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M. S. 



THE STORY OF A- LIFE 



EDITED BY HER SISTER 

FEANCES SELLEES GAREETT 



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This volume has been prepared for the family and 
nearest friends. 



^fjtiatielpfjia : 

PEESS OF ALFRED J. FERRIS 

1901 



Library of Concimssj 

Iwu Copies Received 
JAN 31 1901 

Copyright entry 

NoXX^/77.^-^ 

SECOND COPY 



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Copyright, 1901, by Frances Sellers Garrett. 



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For the great-nephews and -nieces of Martha Sellers, 
this book has been compiled, and in tender memory of 
her, I dedicate it to them. 

Frances Sellers Garrett. 



PEEFACE. 

Just after my sister Pattie's death, our brother John 
asked me to write a sketch of her life for her family; 
and while I wanted the children who were too young to 
remember her, to know her, yet I felt utterly inadequate 
to tell of a life so individual and so unique. Only her- 
self could be an exponent of herself, and I thought the 
best way for them to know her would be through her 
letters. 

We had had a voluminous correspondence from the 
time I married and left home, in April, 1855, to Decem- 
ber, 1899, when she left us for her long home. She con- 
stantly urged me to destroy the letters, but they were so 
much her very self that it seemed like destroying a life 
to burn them. She used to say, " There is no interest 
in my letters but their personality," and this is true in 
a measure, but to eliminate that personality, I would 
have to eliminate herself. Therefore the task has not 
been an easy one, to know what to preserve and what to 
destroy. Another complication was the fact that I alone 
in the family had preserved her letters; consequently 
there must necessarily be a great deal of me and mine. 
But at the same time I think these letters will show you 



VI PREFACE 

what she was, and will help you to know her, more than 
any words of mine can. 

"We are not writing of a noted woman, only a loving 
one ; not one that was known by the many, only by the 
few; and if through these letters you can see a generous 
sister and friend, one who despised shams and was real 
and true, whose sense of humor carried her over rough 
places, and made the world brighter by her presence, 
then I shall have accomplished what I had set before 
me, — to help you to know and love the Aunt who 
thought of and loved you. 



CONTENTS. 

Preface v 

Index to Illustrations viii 

CHAPTER 

I.— Introductory, 1 

II.— The Story of Childhood, 10 

III.— Old Journals, 35 

IV— 1855 and 1856, 56 

V.— 1857 and 1858, 70 

VI.— 1859, 87 

VII— 1860 TO 1863, ..." 98 

VIII.— 1864 and 1865, 121 

IX.— 1869 AND 1870, 144 

X.— 1871 and 1872, . 168 

XL— 1873, 1874, 1876, 192 

XII.— 1877 and 1878, . 214 

XIII— 1880, 1881, 1882, 230 

XIV.— 1884, 1885, 1886, 248 

XV —1887, 1888, 269 

XVI.— 1889, 297 

XVII.— 1890 and 1891, . .316 

XVIII.— 1892 344 

XIX.— 1893 and 1894, 374 

XX.— 1895, ' . . 403 

XXI —1896, 430 

XXII.— 1897, 526 

XXIII.— 1898, 548 

XXIV.— 1899, 586 

XXV— Last Days, 614 



INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Portrait of M. S., 1896, with fac-simile of handwriting, 

Frontispiece. 



OPP. 
PAGE 



Old Millbourne, 1 

(Home of M. S. from 1830 to 1858.) 

The Three Sisters, 1854 35 

M. S., 1870, 153 



New Millbourne, 229 

(Home of M. S. from November, 1858, to December, 1878.) 






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©i)e jE>targ of a JLfte. 

CHAPTER I. 

IKTEODUCTOET. 

In a long, low, rambling house on the side of a hill, 
built by her ancestors two hundred years ago, Martha 
Sellers was born, October 2d, 1830. It was the old Mill- 
bourne home, where the eleven children of John and 
Elizabeth Poole Sellers were born, and where eight of 
them grew to manhood and womanhood. 

Some one has said that " very few know the maiden 
names of their great-grandrnothers," and I have known 
some who did not know the names of their great-grand- 
fathers either; so, fearing that some of you for whom 
this book is written may be equally ignorant, I will tell 
you that our father was John Sellers, son of John and 
Mary Coleman Sellers, of Philadelphia, afterward of 
Upper Darby, Delaware County, Pennsylvania; and our 
mother was Elizabeth Poole, daughter of William and 
Sarah Sharpless Poole, of Wilmington, Delaware, and 
they were married April 10th, 1817, in the Quaker meet- 
ing-house, situated at the corner of Fourth and West 
streets, Wilmington, Delaware. 

Being members of the Society of Friends, we were 
brought up in great plainness and simplicity; but for all 
that no children had better times than we. It was a 
happy family party that gathered in the old home- 
stead; — happy because the spirit of love reigned there. 
Our father and mother were lovers always, and we never 
heard a sharp or bitter word from either, nor were we 
ever punished in anger. 



2 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

Our father was of medium height, a florid complex- 
ion, and, when I remember him, with perfectly white 
hair, which curled around his head in soft silvery curls; 
and his daughters would contend for the honor of curl- 
ing it, especially when he was going to meeting. He 
loved to have us do it, but at the same time would cau- 
tion us about making him look too fine. Our great de- 
light was to get him off without seeing himself in the 
glass, as he was very apt to brush out the curls as far as 
he was able; but despite Quaker principles, and despite 
the brush, his hair looked like a halo around the dear 
head we took such delight in, and as he was an overseer 
of the meeting, and sat in the gallery, we had the full 
benefit of his appearance, and flattered ourselves that 
he was the best looking man in the meeting. He had 
bright blue eyes, with such a kindly twinkle in them; 
his expression was affable and cordial, and he had such 
a cheery way of speaking that anyone was made happier 
by his presence. If we did anything wrong, he would 
look so worried and anxious, and as if he did not know 
exactly what to do with us, and would heave such deep 
sighs when he looked at us, that it made us feel like 
miserable little wretches. His most severe reprimand 
(which we used for a byword afterward in the family) 
was, " Thee not only makes thyself uncomfortable, but 
everyone around thee." And he, poor man, was the 
most uncomfortable of all until we were restored to favor 
again. He was a man of quick temper, but what he said 
left no sting, for there was no bitterness in him; and we 
children only laughed at what we called his "tantrums "; 
we did not in the least mind them, for they were like 
April showers, over the next minute. He was a man 
much beloved and trusted by his neighbors and friends; 
of the strictest integrity; tender of everyone's feelings, 
not carried away with pet enthusiasms, but of good judg- 
ment; gentle and pure of heart, a thoroughly Christian 



INTRODUCTORY. 6 

gentleman. We children had no fear of him; we would 
play with him, pester him and caress him; and he loved 
to have us at ease with him, and delighted in the young 
life growing up around him. Dear Father, what a sweet 
memory we have of thy guileless, loving nature, thy 
merry ways, and thy uncomplaining life! Active, cheer- 
ful, genial, and courtly of manner; tender even of the 
caterpillars that ate up his trees, chivalrous to women, 
and a true lover to the one wife, we feel that a blessed in- 
heritance is ours in having such a father. 

But what shall I say of Mother, save to quote Father's 
words: "You ought to be good children, for you have 
had the best of mothers." She was a tall, dignified, un- 
demonstrative woman; strangers thought her cold. Not 
so her family, for they and they only could judge the 
depth of tenderness in her heart. She was reserved to 
strangers, but open and free with her children, and our 
sorrows and joys were fully confided to her. She was 
the most intimate friend we had. Her " no " always 
meant no, and her " yes," yes; and we rarely questioned 
her decisions, for we knew her sweet reasonableness. She 
never nagged us, or punished us in anger; but, when re- 
quired, the rebuke or punishment was given lovingly and 
regretfully, and humiliated us more than any corporal 
punishment. She was the soul of integrity, and all fals- 
ity fell away before her steadfastness. With strong rea- 
soning powers, intellectual tastes, and logical mind, had 
she had more time for cultivation she might have 
achieved anything she desired; but her life had been a 
very busy one, for with a large family and the necessity 
for economy there was much she had to do herself, and I 
never saw her idle for a moment. She obeyed the in- 
junction, " Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it 
with thy might," and there were no half-way measures 
with her. There was no slip-shod management, for our 
home was immaculately neat; everything was plain but 



4 THE ST0KY OF A LIFE. 

substantial, and the Quaker simplicity of our household 
left no room for useless ornament. She would have had 
no time for the bric-a-brac of the present day, which I 
am sure she would have thought a needless care. She 
had a strong spiritual nature, with a religion exemplified 
in works that needed no word to formulate it. The 
guidance of the Inward Light, the fundamental princi- 
ples of the Friends' doctrine, was a reality to her. 

Martha, or " Pattie," as we called her, was the ninth 
child, and was the most delicate of all the children. I 
remember we three sisters quarreled once as to which 
was the most delicate, and we had to reluctantly yield 
the palm to Pattie, because she had to be taken away 
from home for the benefit of her health. We quite en- 
vied her this distinction, for we had not then learned 
the disadvantages accruing to such a condition. She 
had an active imagination, and an original way of ex- 
pressing herself that was very interesting. Her manner 
was inimitable, and she often got the rest of us into dif- 
ficulty by making us laugh at the wrong time. It was 
not what she said, but her way of saying it, that upset 
our gravity; and while she would look perfectly innocent 
and composed, the rest of us were unable to control our- 
selves. Many a time we were rebuked for bad manners 
while the real culprit escaped all censure. She loved 
beautiful things, had an intense admiration for beautiful 
women, deplored her own plainness, and depreciated 
every advantage she had. Her brown hair waved and 
curled around a low forehead, and the soft complexion, 
with its pink coloring, I thought beautiful. As I write 
this, it seems almost as though she were leaning over my 
shoulder, remonstrating against such a description, and 
saying, " If I were thee, I would tell the truth." Well, 
this is truth from my standpoint^ and even in imagina- 
tion I will not have her " traduce " herself. She was 
lovely in my eyes, notwithstanding she would constantly 



INTRODUCTORY. 5 

assure me that she " was the beloved plain child." Her 
worst fault, then and always, was depreciation of herself; 
she thought everyone she loved so much more capable 
than she, was constantly contrasting herself with her 
sisters, much to her own disadvantage, and all our argu- 
ments, reproofs, and commendations failed to convince 
her. Her capacity for loving was strong and persistent; 
she idealized her friends, and consequently suffered 
many a heart-ache. It took all of her life to learn that 
her friends were mortal; but she craved love, though 
wondering how she could expect to inspire it. Her 
self-depreciation was her stumbling-block here as well. 
Her family were often indignant because she gave her- 
self and all she possessed so freely, knowing that such 
absorption must give her pain in the end; but her loyalty 
was proof against all disappointments, and once a friend 
was to her forever a friend. 

If the great-nephews and -nieces are as obtuse on the 
subject of relationship as some of the generation pre- 
ceding them, it would be as well to introduce the family 
in their order of precedence, so that it may be clear 
whom she is addressing, and of whom she is speaking in 
her letters; and each child can appropriate its own 
grandfather and grandmother, and understand in what 
relation they stood to one another. The first child of 
John and Elizabeth P. Sellers was Mary, whom we always 
designated as " Sister Mary "; and she was the only one 
honored with a title. The others we nicknamed more 
or less, but we never failed to address her in this way, 
though we occasionally left off the Mary, and shortened 
it to " Sis." She married Edward Bancroft, and left 
home when Pattie was ten years old. Three children 
died in infancy before the birth of the fifth child, Wil- 
liam; then came John, Jr., then George and Sarah, who 
were twins, and who answered to the names of " Tod " 
and " Saide "; then Martha, who was always " Pattie " 



6 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

or " Marph Ann," or any foolish name we chose to give 
her; then Frances, commonly called " Fanny " by the 
dignified members of the family, but always called 
" Fin," or " Fin-Fin " by Pattie; and neither the dignity 
of age nor gray hair made any difference, and she used 
that little term of endearment to the day of her death. 
Lastly came Nathan, whom our Grandfather named for 
his brother Nathan, and I remember my mother tell- 
ing us that when that name was proposed she ob- 
jected to it, because it was so ugly, and Grandfather ex- 
claimed, impetuously, " Who ever thought of my brother 
Nathan having a homely name?" "And then," said 
Mother, " I recalled how Uncle Nathan had dignified 
the name, and I said, ' The child shall be Nathan/ " We 
children shortened it to " Nate," though in later years 
we have treated him to his proper name, all but Pattie, 
who always called him " Nate." 

The old Millbourne house was a quaint old place, with 
its low ceilings, which our tall brothers' heads almost 
touched when they grew to manhood. There was a low 
piazza running all across the front, and funny little win- 
dows, and irregular floors, with steps up or down into 
almost every room. There was the large living-room, 
where all the family gathered in the evening, and where 
was Mother's chair by the north window,* and the little 
shelf that held her work-basket, and the settee which 
accommodated so many of us, and where Mother took 
her nap after dinner, while we played about, and made 
no end of noise, which she said never disturbed her un- 
less we quarreled. Through a small entry, and one step 
lower down than the living-room, was what we called the 
far parlor, with its windows looking out over the mill- 
race, past the old mill, fast falling to decay, and across 

* That chair is now in the possession of Anna Bancroft Cog- 
geshall, left her by her Aunt Pattie. 



INTEODtTCTOKY. 7 

the green meadow to the creek and the woods beyond. 
The five-leafed creeper waved its long tendrils against 
the windows, and on dark nights when we left the cheer- 
ful sitting-room to go into this far parlor for some book 
or work, and heard the branches brush against the win- 
dow, we felt eerie and uncomfortable, and hurried back 
into the warm room where were Mother and the lighted 
lamp, and Father reading, and the boys and girls gath- 
ered around the center-table. Mother's room was in a 
wing the other side of the sitting-room, and one step 
lower down; and through the west window the ivy that 
covered that end of the house had forced its way 
through the old wood-work, and twined itself around the 
ceiling. Mother would not have it taken down, for she 
loved it; and winter and summer its living green made 
a picture we love to remember. Over this room was the 
one we called the North Turret. Not that there was 
the least resemblance to a turret; the only excuse for its 
name being that it had a window looking toward the 
north, and as the ground sloped away from the house 
on this side we could look across* the little brook and the 
long green meadow, where the daisies and buttercups 
and ragged-robins grew, to the creek and the woods be- 
yond, so we felt very high up in the world, and looked 
down on what we thought quite an expanse. It had a 
window to the east, and another to the west; but the 
north window was our delight, for it was convenient to 
throw any trash that we wanted to get rid of into the 
mill-race that ran close to the walls of the old house; 
and then the outlook was beautiful, and we three sisters 
who occupied the room would lean out the north win- 
dow, and talk, and build our air-castles, and dream 
dreams, and try to fathom the future, as only happy girls 
can. There were irregular entries and unexpected steps, 
and big rooms and little rooms, which had been added 
to the old house in the two centuries of its existence, 



8 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

and though it had no architectural beauties to please the 
eye and endear it to us, yet not one of those eight chil- 
dren but loved and cherished the old homestead; and 
though strangers occupy it now, yet we are glad to know 
that it still is held in the Sellers name, and is owned by 
our brother, William Sellers. 

Many of the Sellers relations lived in this neighbor- 
hood. There was Hoodland, where our Grandfather 
lived, and Sellers Hall, where his brother George lived, 
and which had belonged to our Great-Grandf ather, John 
Sellers; then there was Springton, where was Cousin 
James Sellers and his large family. Wild Orchard was 
occupied by Cousin Samuel Sellers, who had no children 
of his own, but had three orphan nieces, who lived with 
him. Millbank belonged to Cousin Nancy Sellers, who 
was a maiden lady, and looked just as though she had 
come out of a story-book, always so dainty and refined. 
Edgefield belonged to her brother Nathan, who had no 
children; consequently was not of much account to us. 
Cousin Charles Cadwallader^s place was Oak Hill. He 
had married a sister of Cousin James Sellers, and his 
children were our particular playmates. Lastly, Mill- 
bourne, and where the present Millbourne house stands, 
was part of the original grant from William Penn to the 
first emigrant, Samuel Sellers, in 1682, and I believe is 
the only part of that grant held in the Sellers name. 

There were no public schools when we were children, 
and our father, with his cousins, James Sellers and 
Charles Cadwallader, built a school-house in a central 
part of the neighborhood which would accommodate 
thirty-two children; and this was where the Sellers chil- 
dren received their first instruction. It was called 
Union School, and still bears that name, though it has 
been handed over to the county for a public school long 
ago. 

Professor James Rhodes, of Philadelphia, at one time 



INTRODUCTORY. V 

taught in this school, and quite prided himself on Pat- 
tie's accomplishment of learning to read before she 
learned to spell, anticipating by many years the method 
of the present day. Having no letters in regard to her 
childhood, I shall allow her to tell her own story, which 
she has done in a series of sketches, called " When I was 
a Little Girl," from Avhich I make a few extracts. 



CHAPTER II. 

A STOEY OF CHILDHOOD, WRITTEN FOE THE CHILDREN, ENTITLED 

"WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL." 



GEANDFATHEE. 

Eyeky Sunday we took dinner at Grandfather's. He 
was an old Quaker gentleman, who lived pretty much 
alone, with a cousin who kept house for him. Grand- 
mother was dead long before we were born, and so of 
course we knew nothing about her, but we were pretty 
well acquainted with Grandfather, and though he was 
very kind to us, yet in our secret hearts we were a little 
afraid of him. He had a way of asking us unexpected 
questions, and puzzling us about our lessons, until we 
felt as if we did not know anything. 

We thought it was not half so nice at Grandfather's 
as at home, though he lived in a large house on a hill, 
where we could see miles away over the river beyond the 
hills around. We lived in a low house down in a vallev, 
where we could see nothing but woods and meadows and 
water, and the sky above us; but we thought it was the 
brightest spot the sun ever shone upon. At Grand- 
father's in winter the wind howled and whistled and 
moaned around the house and through the old pine trees, 
and made it seem to us children rather dreary, in spite 
of the huge wood fire crackling on the hearth; and at 
night the rooms seemed so large it made us homesick. 
At home everything was cozy and comfortable, and there 
were always just enough people in it, and everybody 



WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIKL. 11 

seemed to have a good time. We did not feel afraid of 
the dark there; we laughed and shouted as we ran up the 
stairs, and never thought of anybody jumping out at us, 
or catching hold of our feet; but at Grandfather's the 
stairway was so wide, and went up ever so high, where 
fifty men might hide, we thought, so we felt a little awed 
by its grandeur, and never lingered long on its steps; 
but rushed into the well-lighted room as soon as possi- 
ble. I always thought it would be dreadful to have to 
live at Grandfather's, and had great sympathy with the 
stories I heard about William, who was my oldest 
brother. He always seemed to me very big in every 
sense of the word. Before I knew my letters he was 
studying Latin, and used to astonish me with the 
amount of his knowledge. Well, he was sent to Grand- 
father's one winter when he was smaller, to go to school 
from there; but he was always stealing off home, and 
Grandfather used to think it was all nonsense. He said, 
u That boy is unaccountably fond of home," and tried 
every means in his power to make him happy and satis- 
fied, — just as if any place could feel like home when 
Mother was not there. William was very fond of Grand- 
father, too, but there was nobody in the world like 
Mother to him, and I remember, after he was big enough 
to seem quite a man, how his eyes filled with tears when 
he was going away from home and said good-bye to 
Mother. T always thought that he was too big to cry, 
but he came so near doing it sometimes that I loved him 
more, because he could not help it. He used to tell us 
about Grandfather often, and make us laugh; and he was 
not at all afraid of him as we were. He said that once 
he was riding down the road on one of Grandfather's 
horses, making him spin along pretty fast, for he was 
coming home, when he heard a voice in the distance 
calling. He looked back, and there stood Grandfather, 
ever so far off, waving his cane in the air, and calling 



12 . THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

him; so he rode back to him, when Grandfather said, " I 
want thee to remember the horse goes on his feet," which 
induced William to go the rest of the way more slowly. 
When we were up there on Sundays, we always had a 
very good time. ^Grandfather went to sleep in his chair 
after dinner, and we ate apples, and read all the books 
we could find. In summer we enjoyed the long piazza, 
where there was always a pleasant air, or sat on the 
grass under the trees, and talked or read. William was 
a perfect hero in my eyes, because he talked to Grand- 
father as easily as if he might not any minute jump at 
him and say, Boh! which always frightened me dread- 
fully, although Grandfather only meant it in fun, I be- 
lieve. He never was impatient with little girls, but if 
the boys did not please him he did not hesitate to scold 
them, or, worse than that, ridicule them; and I was al- 
ways afraid our turn would come, but it never did. 

All of his books were very wise, so we did not like 
them very much. There were no pictures, except in one, 
which was an especial favorite, and was not scientific or 
tiresome like all the rest. It was called " Elements of 
Morality," which is not a very attractive title, but it 
was a story of a family called Jones, who lived in Bristol, 
England. Charles and Mary were the children, and we 
used to think their Father and Mother were awfully stiff 
with them, and they never seemed to have any fun of 
any kind without getting into trouble about it, but spent 
most of their time in walking about with their parents 
listening to good advice. The pictures were wonderful, 
and we thought nothing could be prettier; and certainly 
they afforded us the greatest satisfaction, as they told 
the story more fully than any reading could. One, I 
remember, was of particular interest, where poor Mary 
Jones has unfortunately dirtied her bonnet, and as a 
punishment is left at home when they were all going out 
for a visit. She has a most mournful countenance as she 



WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. 13 

stands leaning over with her hands pressed to her sides, 
the very picture of despair, while she says: " Oh, this 
slovenliness is a nasty thing." We used to have long 
talks about poor Mary, and all of us thought it was a 
dreadful shame she should be left at home. Saide said 
she always looked to her as if she were sick at her 
stomach, and Fanny said she was glad enough Mr. and 
Mrs. Jones were not her Father and Mother. " What 
good would it do, anyhow/' said she, " to keep Mary 
at home, — it could not make her bonnet clean? It is 
just like i the little dog that burnt his tail, and he shall 
be whipped to-morrow/ — as if one bad thing were not 
enough to bear without having a punishment beside." 
However, we read the book so much we got accustomed 
to Mary and her misfortunes, and we finally came to 
think it was not so bad after all. 

Grandfather had one room in his house which was 
of the- greatest interest to us; partly because it was al- 
ways kept locked, and partly because he used to stay in 
there so much. We hardly ever got a peep inside, and 
I had a sort of dread of it, too; for at home every part 
of the house was open to all, and we ran from one end to 
the other in perfect freedom, so I knew nothing about 
locked rooms. One day I told Saide very mysteriously 
that I never walked through the hall, past that door, but 
I heard a queer noise. " Sometimes," said I, " it sounds 
like chains rattling, and often it seems like groans, and 
every time I listen it is all quiet again. I do wonder 
what it can be." "Bats," said Fanny. " Oh, no! it is 
not a bit like rats," said I ; " it is a real ghostly noise, and 
I am afraid of it." " Oh, pshaw! " said Saide, " who be- 
lieves in ghosts?" "Nobody, of course," said I, "but 
then, what is it? " Over and over again we used to dis- 
cuss this mysterious room, and wish we knew what was 
in it. Once when we had holiday we three girls spent 
the day at Grandfather's, and when every other amuse- 



14 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

t 

ment failed we sat down and talked about this room. 
Finally we went up to the door, one at a time, and told 
all we saw through the keyhole, and what kind of noises 
we heard inside, which were very various. 

" If Grandfather would only forget/ 7 said Saide, " and 
lea^e the door unlocked just a little while, it would be 
elegant, because then we could just be walking along, 
and go in there by mistake, thinking it was the parlor, 
you know." " Oh," said Fanny, " he would let us go in 
if we asked him; it is just because you girls are such 
cowards you are afraid to do it." 

" Why don't thee ask him thyself, then," said I. 
" Oh, I do not care so very much about the room," said 
Fanny; " I do not suppose it is very nice there." " Well," 
said I, " there may not be anything very nice, but what 
do you think of somebody being kept a prisoner there? 
Who knows what it is? Maybe, after all, Grandmother 
is not dead, and she is crazy, and has to be kept there." 

Fanny's eyes opened wide at this, and she said, " Well, 
I should not much wonder. Grandfather always shuts 
the door so quickly when he goes in, as if he were afraid 
somebody would jump out." " There is one thing," said 
Saide, very conclusively; " it is not Grandmother; she 
died when Father was a little boy, or else he has been 
telling stories all his life." " I just know what it is," 
said Fanny, " it is a monkey." " Not very likely," said 
I, contemptuously, " monies do not groan." " Indeed 
they do, then," said Fanny, " if you pull the chain too 
tight, and thee knows thee said thee heard chains rat- 
tling." We crept up to the door, and listened again; — 
all was still as death. We were all huddled together, 
whispering, when there certainly was a queer noise, 
which made us jump, and I tumbled up against the door, 
which flew open as quick as thought, and Grandfather 
bounced out and nearly scared us to death. Now, I was 
a dreadful coward, but still when there was no possi- 



WHE^T I WAS A LITTLE GIEL. 15 

bility of running away I could summon up a little cour- 
age, and the girls often said I was brave enough when I 
had to be; so when Grandfather took hold of me and 
said, " Children, what are you doing ? " I replied, " We 
wanted to see what was in the room to make such queer 
noises." " Well, what did it sound like? " said he. " I 
think it is a monkey with a chain," said Fanny. " I 
don't; I believe it is come crazy person," said Saide. He 
looked at me inquiringly, and I said in a low voice, " I 
think it must be a ghost." Oh, how Grandfather did 
laugh! and immediately opened the door wide and in- 
vited us to come in; so at last we were in this mysterious 
room, which had filled us with such vague alarms, and 
given so much food for imagination and wonder. I con- 
fess to a, feeling of relief when I saw spades, and rakes, 
and axes, and scythes, and hatchets, and every kind of 
tools one could think of, all arranged around in order; 
but no monkey, no crazy woman, no ghost; nothing but 
shelves filled to overflowing with boxes, and drawers, lit- 
tle and big; a long bench between the windows, and a 
grindstone at one end of the room; pieces of iron lying 
about, and sticks of wood piled up ; bunches of seed corn, 
and lots of herbs hanging overhead; ropes dangling 
down from the rafters or coiled up in the corner; straps 
and buckles and pieces of tin; old harness, and old 
sleigh bells, and long rusty chains; and such a variety of 
things we thought we would never get to see all in a 
Aveek. Grandfather looked quizzically at me, and said, 
"Where's the ghost?" I was ashamed, but said: "I 
do not see any ghost, but there certainly was a funny 
noise." Grandfather went over to the grindstone, and 
began to sharpen an axe; then turning around with a 
bounce at me, said, "Did it sound like that?" "Yes, 
sometimes;" said I, " but not always." Then he went to 
the bench, which he told us was a turning lathe, where 
he made all those pretty little silk winders for Mother. 



1() THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

He put his foot on the treadle underneath, and suddenly 
the wheel began to spin around, and when he held a 
block of wood against the knife it made a funny noise, 
and began to throw little chips all about. I knew that 
noise in a minute, and said, " Now, Grandfather, that is 
the ghost." He laughed, and stroked my hair down 
into my eyes, which he had a fashion of doing, much to 
my annoyance. He never seemed to see that my hair 
was parted down the middle, and ought to be smoothed 
the other way, but just roughed it up as if I did not 
care how it looked. 

Then he told us we might look around while he 
went on w T ith his work, but we must not touch anything 
without asking. After a while Fanny came over to me 
and said, " Just look at that dear little mahogany box up 
on the shelf; wouldn't it make a splendid little bureau 
to keep the doll's clothes in? " We all three stood in 
silent admiration; everything else in the room was for- 
gotten. After a minute, Saide said: " Grandfather, what 
a beautiful box that is up on the shelf; it doesn't look as 
if thee had ever used it." He never turned his head, 
and we thought he did not hear. Then Fanny went 
over and stood by him, and talked to him about what he 
was doing, and asked him various questions about dif- 
ferent things, and came back and looked at the box with 
us, and then went over and stood by Grandfather's side, 
until finally she said, " Grandfather, don't thee think 
it would be nice to have a great many little boxes to keep 
thy things in?" "Why, I don't know," said Grand- 
father, " there's a place for everything in this shop, and 
everything is in its place." I looked around, and 
thought to myself it was funny kind of order; everything 
looked mixed up to me. 

" Grandfather," said Fanny, again, " has thee any lit- 
tle boxes thee doesn't use, big enough to keep baby's 
clothes in? " " Well," said Grandfather, " that depends 



WHEN" I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. 17 

very much on how big the baby is, and how many clothes 
it has." " Oh," said Fanny, as if a bright idea had just 
struck her, " abont as big as that little box up there 
would do." "Oh, ho," said Grandfather, "that is 
what you are after, is it? Well, we will see." So he 
reached it down off the high shelf, and set it on the work 
bench, while we stood all around trembling with eager- 
ness. " Oh, it would be elegant for a bureau," said I ; 
" it has such a cunning little drawer in; and then it looks 
like the same kind of wood as our bedstead; it would just 
match." " Well, but children," said Grandfather, " you 
all seem to want it, and I do not know how to choose be- 
tween you." " Oh, give it to us all," said Saide, " we 
have our playthings all together." " Oh, no," said 
Grandfather; " I am afraid if I should do that it would 
be a bone of contention between you; — maybe it would 
start a quarrel, and what then?" " No, indeed," said we, 
all in a breath. "Are you sure?" said Grandfather; 
" for I do not like to do anything to make little children 
quarrel; suppose you promise me that as soon as you be- 
gin to disagree about it you bring it back to me; will you 
do that?" "Yes, indeed we will, — indeed and dou- 
ble deed." So Grandfather gave us the box, and we 
were never done admiring it; opening the lid and pulling 
out the little drawer, and turning the key in the lock, 
and turning it up on every side to see its perfections. 

That night when we went home we told Mother all 
about the mysterious room, and showed her the box, 
and repeated what Grandfather had said about its being 
a bone of contention between us, and she said, " I think 
you had better call it the ' Bone/ so you can always be 
reminded of your promise to Grandfather not to quarrel, 
for it would be a pity if you had to take it back after all; 
3 r ou would be very much ashamed, I am sure." " Oh, 
we will make up with one another about all our quarrels 



18 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

the minute we see the Bone/' said Saide; " I guess 
Grandfather will never get it again." 

It used to make people stare when they heard us talk 
about our " Bone," for it always went by that name, 
and nobody understood how it helped us out of our little 
differences, remembering that we were bound in honor 
not to quarrel so long as it was in our possession. I 
have often thought since it would be a good thing if 
other children had a Bone like ours to keep the peace in 
the family; something that would make them ashamed to 
quarrel, and hold before them always the honor of being 
trusted. 

Grandfather often asked us about the Bone, and how 
soon he could have it again, and when we said, " Not 
yet, and I guess never," he looked quite pleased, and 
stroked our heads, and said, " That's right ; never quar- 
rel! " and we felt as if we never would while he trusted 
us. So we kept the box, and our promise too. 



THE DARK WOOD. 

There are not many children, I am sure, who have a 
prettier walk to school than we used to take every morn- 
ing when I was a little girl. As we went up the lane the 
wild roses grew thick on each side, and we gathered them 
for the teacher or trimmed our hats with them, as we 
walked along. Then when we crossed the road, and 
climbed the steps into the field above, there were large 
trees on every side, and such a sweet path down over the 
little stream before we came to the dark wood. This 
last was so thick we could not see through it, and the 
path wound along by the edge of a deep quarry, where 
we used to imagine all the dreadful accidents which 
could occur to children who did not know about it. On 
one side the pine trees were thick, and the ground was 



WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. 19 

all strewn with a fine carpet of their slender needles, and 
we used to pick up the cones and have them among our 
treasures. Then down by the quarry were little cedar 
trees growing, and many a graceful vine and shrub con- 
cealed the awful depths beneath. Above it all towered 
grand old oaks and beeches and chestnuts, with poplars 
so tall and straight they seemed to us to point right up 
into heaven. We always called this the "dark wood," for 
even at noonday it was in deep shadow, and woe to the 
belated scholar who walked there all alone toward even- 
ing! I had a great dread of it, and perhaps that served 
to keep me all right about my lessons generally; but once 
I remember being kept in after school, and how dark it 
seemed as I came along toward the wood. I tried to 
sing to myself, which was my usual comfort, but my 
voice sounded strange and unreal even to myself; beside, 
I thought maybe somebody would hear me and come 
after me, which kept me as quiet as a mouse. As I 
crept under the fence I thought I heard a rustle in the 
bushes, and took a good look before I went any farther, 
but there was nothing to be seen, so I went on as boldly 
as I could until I was in the very middle of the " dark 
wood," just by the quarry. Here I did not dare to look 
around, for here I always believed Eoderick Dhu must 
have lived with his band of robbers, and I never felt 
quite safe even in broad day. Mother used to read us 
" The Lady of the Lake," until we knew it by heart al- 
most, and I said to myself — 

" Ever the hollow path twined on 
Beneath steep bank and threatening stone, 
A hundred men might hold a post 
With hardihood against a host," 

and when the signal whistle was given, imagined how 

" On right and left, above, below, 
Sprang up at once the lurking foe." 



20 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Just as I was going over this thrilling story to myself, I 
heard a noise up among the pines above me, a rustle and 
a dash, and then a shrill whistle in the distance, and be- 
fore I could get my breath for terror, our big dog sprang 
into the path before me, and I could have hugged him, 
I was so glad. Soon voices were heard coming towards 
us, and directly, almost, John and George appeared. 
They had come back for me, knowing I was such a cow- 
ard; and I was just baby enough to cry when I saw them. 

In this dark wood were beautiful flowers, which 
never grew in any other place, we thought; and Saide, 
who never cared for robbers or ghosts, or even Eoderick 
Dhu himself, would persuade me to go on holidays and 
build bowers with moss floors and walls of climbing 
vines, which we pretended were only fit for royalty, no 
common mortal ever being permitted to enter. Just as 
sure as we got it all fixed in the most gorgeous manner 
John and George would dash in, and sometimes carry 
Fanny on their shoulders, and pretend to make a stum- 
ble, which would precipitate the whole party into this 
lovely palace, and Saide would scold them dreadfully, 
and say there was no use in trying to have things nice 
when wild beasts could come into our houses and tear 
things to pieces; which only made them laugh and shout, 
or try to roar like a lion, and frighten me with their fear- 
ful bellowing. 

It was in this dark wood that Saide used to tell me 
her choicest stories: it was here I pictured all the won- 
derful adventures of all my heroes and heroines. I 
never, even yet, think of the dark wood without imagin- 
ing Jenny Deans on her long, tiresome journey to get 
the pardon for her sister; for here I was sure the rob- 
bers sprang out at her, and here I felt all the misery of 
delay when every moment was precious to her. 

When I was a little girl we did not have many chil- 
dren's books to read, but we seized upon everything that 



WHEX I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. - 21 

came in our way and devoured it with greedy interest. 
Once Saide told us that she had a splendid book to read 
to us, and as we went home from school we stopped at 
the rock by the quarry, and sat down to rest while she 
read it aloud. It was, as I remember, a thrilling love 
story, which we drank in; but Mother always wanted us 
to come straight home from school, so we could not stay 
to hear much of it; and when we took it out to read un- 
der the old tree in front of the piazza at home, Sister 
Mary asked us what book we had. Saide took it to her, 
and she looked at it all through and said, " It is not a 
nice book for little children to read; I am sure Mother 
would not like you to have it; where did you get it? " 
" Harriet Eooks gave it to us," said Saide, " and she 
says it is perfectly splendid; the lover's talk is beautiful, 
and we are dreadfully interested in it." " Oh, I don't 
want you to read it," said Sister Mary ; " it is not fit for 
any little girls." We looked at each other in horror, 
and Saide said, " Harriet ought not to read it, either, 
then." " No," said Sister Mary, " I don't think it will 
do her any good "; so we put the book away, and after- 
ward had a grand consultation about it. If it was not 
fit for us to read, it might do a great deal of harm with 
other children who did not know as much as we; and 
we particularly felt concerned for Harriet's morals, and 
as she was the daughter of a minister, we made up our 
minds that it was very wrong for her to keep it. As we 
walked to school we talked about it, and George said, 
" Burn it." " But it is not ours," said Fanny. " Well, 
that makes no difference," said George; " it would be 
very wrong to let Harriet Eooks get any worse than she 
is." " Why, she is not a bad girl, I am sure," said I. 
" No," said Saide, " she is good enough now, but if we let 
her have this book, and she gets bad afterward, it will be 
our fault, I am sure." We weighed the matter in all its 
bearings; it was not ours, to be sure, but then we had no 



22 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

right to lead her into temptation, and felt called upon 
to deliver her from evil, as well as all other children to 
whom she might lend it; so we dug a hole under a big 
tree in the " dark wood," and buried the book, and went 
on our way rejoicing. I remember that Harriet was not 
easily convinced with our arguments. She said we had 
no right to it at all; that it was just as bad as stealing; 
that she never would lend us another thing, and that 
she certainly would tell her father all about it. We 
talked about it, and wondered whether we had better dig 
it up again, but consideration for her morals prevailed, 
and I suppose it is dust and ashes by this time, as it was 
never disturbed, and nobody ever knew the place where 
it was buried, or imagined the strength of our principles, 
which were proof alike against indignant remonstrance 
and against temptations of any kind. Not even threat- 
enings of exposure moved us, so if Harriet ever came to 
grief we, at least, were not responsible. 

On the edge of the dark wood, on the side next to 
home, stood an old spring-house, from which came the 
brightest, coolest, most refreshing little stream, where 
we always stopped to get a drink in going to or coming 
from school. It was down by the side of this stream 
that I lost my first silver thimble with my name on it. 
How I poked sticks into the stream to find it, and called 
upon each one of my brothers and sisters to help me 
look for it; but alas! it was gone. It was just on the 
edge of winter that I lost it, and no matter how cold the 
day, I never could resist the temptation of stopping to 
take another look. That winter the snow lay thick on 
the ground all the time; the boys used to get us on the 
sled and drag us over the hard, frozen surface, and we 
thought it was perfectly splendid. The other side of 
the dark wood, our school path wound around the edge 
of a steep hill, which went straight down to the water, 
where it was very deep. It was very icy on this hill, and 



WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. 23 

one morning I know the boys had to dig holes in the 
path for fear we would slip as we walked along, and 
sometimes they carried us over the most dangerous parts. 
John had picked me up to carry me across to where 
Fanny stood in safety, when I looked around, and Saide, 
in a spirit of independence, started out in his footsteps, 
but before she had gotten very far her feet slipped from 
under her, and she slid rapidly down the hill, while I, 
in perfect terror, screamed to George and pointed to 
Saide. For a moment there was the wildest excitement 
among us, Saide herself being calmest of all. I can see 
her yet, with her little blue hood, going down that icy 
hill, and her cloak half pulled off, as she tried to catch 
herself at a tree. In a moment she would be dashed to 
pieces against the rocks or trees, or, worse than all, 
drowned in the water below, for it was not frozen hard 
enough to bear. Down, down, she went, and I held my 
breath and cried, thinking that Saide was lost to us for- 
ever. Just then she caught at a little bush, and swung 
herself around against a large tree, and then she was safe 
enough from the water, if we could ever get her up on 
to the path again. The boys kicked holes in the ice 
with their heavy boots, and went cautiously down the 
hill, one at a time, reaching their hands out to each other 
for support, in case they might fall. When they came 
to the big tree, which saved Saide, she was sitting very 
quietly with her feet astride of the trunk, and she said: 
" You don't go down a hill as fast as I do; it was real 
nice, only this old tree stopped me/' Fortunately for all 
concerned, a man came along, and helped the boys up 
with her, but she never seemed to be the least impressed 
with the adventure, and when she got to school I heard 
her tell some of the girls: "I had the most splendid 
slide this morning I ever had in all my life." . . . 

It was in this dark wood, and along the school path, 
that George used to throw stones at everything, and 



24 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

whatever he hit, he always said, " That's just what I 
aimed at/' but as we could not tell exactly what was in 
his mind before the stone left his hand, it was always 
an open question with us, and we believed as much of it 
as we chose, much to his indignation. It was here that 
we firmly believed the wicked uncle of " The Babes in 
the Wood " took them to be lost, and among these trees 
the little robins sang who kindly covered them with 
leaves. Nowhere else, it seemed to me, were the birds 
so cheerful and full of music; they sang to one another 
from morning until night, and often, when we went 
rustling through the fallen leaves and stopped to listen 
how quiet it was, we thought the birds sang a little 
louder and more triumphantly, as if nothing could stop 
them, and the squirrels ran from branch to branch over 
our heads and dropped nuts at our feet, as if they 
laughed to themselves at children who listened to 
silence. The dark wood was full of wonder to me. I 
used to think of how it would be there at night, when all 
the little birds had gone to bed, and the squirrels were 
tucked away in their nests. I thought of the deep 
quarry, and pictured to myself somebody walking care- 
lessly along and falling over, and nobody knowing about 
it for years, when the bones might be found whitened 
with sun and rain and the changing seasons. I had a 
curiosity, too, about the grove of pines, which were al- 
ways in deep shadow, and thought how at night it would 
be perfect blackness, and how awfully the wind would 
howl and moan like a lost spirit in their midst. I 
thought of little children walking through there at 
night, and hearing the insects' noises, of how they would 
hurry along past the pines with their sounding branches, 
past the quarry with its stony depths, and on quickly b} 
the tree where grew the Priest in the Pulpit, and be- 
yond the cart-road that ran up through the woods until 
they came to the fence where we crept under by the 



WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIKL. 25 

spring-house; and how gladly they would run over the 
stream and up the hill into the broad field where it was 
lighter. I knew they would be glad, for even in imag- 
ining it, I felt the chill of night in the dark wood, and a 
dream of safety in the open field; but then I was always 
full of imagination, and dreamed dreams and saw visions 
which some other children would laugh at, but which 
made my world a very large place, full of a depth of 
meaning and interest, which clings to it even yet. Chil- 
dren who live in cities have no dark wood to people with 
beings of their own creation; they have no tender whis- 
perings of little spirits in the leaves, no bright adorn- 
ment of their daily lives by walks in its quiet depths; 
and though they may be very happy, they have a differ- 
ent world from the one we lived in " when I was a little 
girl." 



EXAMINATION. 

The day so long looked for and dreaded came at 
last, and found us all ready for it in the confident belief 
that there was very little we did not know. We had 
learned the same rules and gone over the same lessons 
every day for several weeks past; and we knew that we 
could not be tripped up on them, so we inwardly defied 
Uncle George (who was Grandfather's brother), or any 
other critic, being persuaded everybody would be as- 
tonished at the amount of our knowledge, and we 
enjoyed the effect we would certainly produce upon 
them. 

The day itself was cloudless; the sun shone as bright 
as gold, and the leaves on the trees danced in the air 
as our hearts danced in our bosoms. We girls, however, 
were a good deal shocked and disappointed to find that 
we were not to wear our First-clay clothes, and we told 



26 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

Mother she would be ashamed of us when she saw all the 
rest dressed in their best. Our arguments failed to con- 
vince her, however, and she said: " Oh, if you know your 
lessons who will think about your clothes? It is far 
more becoming for little children to be dressed simply 
when they go to school/' " But this is examination day; 
we ought to have on our very nicest things." " Well, I 
don't think so/' said Mother, in her quiet, decided way, 
from which we knew there was no appeal; so we had on 
clean chintz dresses, and Mother said we looked very 
nice indeed. We knew we looked like frights, as we told 
each other as we walked along, and Fanny said: " Oh, 
girls, won't it be elegant when we are grown up, and 
can wear what we like, and do just as we please." Bes- 
sie Chambers said to me the first thing when we got to 
school, "Why didn't you wear your Sunday clothes?" 
" Mother did not want us to," said I. " Oh, my mother 
did not want us to either, but we teased her and teased 
her until she said we might; why didn't you tease your 
mother?" "It would not have done a mite of good," 
said I; " and beside, she would not let us tease her; 
when she says ' no ' we know there is not a bit of use 
in talking any more about it." " Oh, goodness," said 
Bessie, " that wouldn't suit me ; why, we always get 
everything we want if we tease long enough." She ran 
off, and I stood thinking to myself, " Sure enough, you 
do get everything you want; but for all that I would 
rather have my own Mother." Still, I felt it a little 
hard that other children could have things for the ask- 
ing that were denied to us, although I had a sort of trust 
that Mother was right after all. Even yet I feel a sort 
of pity for children whose mothers can be turned from 
their decisions by teasing. They learn then not to have 
confidence in the judgment that can thus be easily set 
aside, and in after life will not have that joy and pride 
in their mothers which we still have in ours, who loved 



WHEN" I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. 27 

us so well she was able to be proof against persuasions 
when her decisions were made. We gradually learned 
to feel that Mother always had a good reason for her 
opinions, and knowing we could be sure of her, as she 
never wavered, we thoroughly respected them. 

Well, we forgot all about our dresses when we saw 
how elegant the school-house looked, with its decora- 
tions of green and its many handsome bouquets of 
flowers. There were wreaths and letters in flowers; 
there were swinging branches of green, and a sort of 
bower under which the speakers were to stand; and 
everything looked beautiful. When we children went 
in we were all packed together at one end of the school- 
house, and the best seats saved for the visitors, who soon 
began to pour in. I thought it was very uncomfortable 
to be packed up so close, and sometimes I felt as if I 
should smother. Both the girls and boys became very 
restless, and all had bad coughs, which made a great 
noise. Every minute it became necessary to change our 
positions a little, to be sure that we could move, and 
altogether it was rather confusing to see so many people 
coming in and no room for them without packing us a 
little tighter. It was quite a relief when the first class 
was called out for reading, though the getting into line 
was a work of some difficulty. First, the little children 
had to be fished out from among the big ones, and when 
they came out before the audience they had a very hot 
and rumpled look, but it seemed all right to us, knowing 
it was examination day, though we tumbled over one an- 
other indiscriminately to get into position. We pitched 
our voices very high, and each one tried to get a little 
louder than the others; and though the noise was per- 
fectly deafening, I did not see anybody put their fingers 
in their ears, so I guess they liked it. When we were 
done, we were all to bend our heads in concert, but I 
saw George nod his head three times while the rest were 



28 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

doing it once, and as for me, I forgot all about it until 
it was all over. But we went to our seats in the belief 
that the reading had been a great success, and I sup- 
pose it was, for we made the school-house ring with our 
voices, although I do not remember much about the sub- 
ject we were reading, — but that made no difference. 
Next, we had spelling in concert, which suited very well 
for those who were not good spellers, and we all liked it 
very much. After we were done, Uncle George asked 
some of the bigger ones to write some of the words on 
the blackboard, and somehow they everyone made mis- 
takes; but then nobody had a right to expect we should 
know everything, and we thought Uncle George was 
very mean to ask anything that was not in the program, 
but of course we did not dare to say so. When we came 
to arithmetic, it was truly awful. To be sure, we knew 
the answers to every question the teacher asked us, and 
rattled off the rules in the most triumphant manner, 
feeling at the same time we were making a great im- 
pression on the audience; but I noticed Uncle George 
and Grandfather sitting close together, and sometimes 
nodding and laughing at one another, so I began to 
think there was some trouble ahead in store for us. They 
always were so fussy about people understanding 
things, — dreadfully old-fashioned in their notions; and 
they used to tell us that when tliey were boys they had 
not half so many studies as we, but they were taught to 
think. One day I remember Grandfather bounced at 
John when he made a mistake, and said, " What does the 
boy mean? — he will never know how to think for him- 
self if he depends on books entirely." And turning to 
Mother, he said, " All these rules that he knows so well 
are good for nothing unless he can apply them; it is a 
very stupid way of teaching." John was dreadfully pro- 
voked, and I thought Grandfather did not know how 
smart John was; he always knew his lessons, and was 



WHEN I WAS, A LITTLE GIRL. 29 

the pride of my heart. On this examination day partic- 
ularly, I was glad he could show Grandfather how high 
he stood in the school, and how much everybody ad- 
mired him. After this class in arithmetic were go- 
ing to their seats triumphantly, not having made a sin- 
gle mistake, Uncle George asked us a lot of questions 
which were entirely too hard to answer, and we told him 
we had not gone that far yet; but the mortifying part 
was to find that some of them were the self -same ques- 
tions we had answered so glibly, twisted around into an- 
other shape, so we did not recognize them, and we were 
as much provoked as he was amused at our mistakes, and 
thought he was just as mean as he could be. It is really 
very aggravating to be forced to think, when it is so easy 
to fall back upon memory, but I do not believe children 
have such examinations now-a-days as they did a long 
while ago, when I was a little girl. If they do, I hope 
they are not bothered by Uncle George or any other old- 
fashioned body who does not care for the number of 
their studies, or how much they may learn, but is always 
being concerned about how much: of it can be used, and 
how little they need depend upon books. 

When it came time for our pieces to be recited, we 
were in our glory. No interference could be permitted 
then, and the house fairly rang with the enthusiasm of 
the speakers. Of course I was particularly interested in 
the success of my own brothers and sisters, and I shall 
never forget how George recited " Marco Bozzaris." I 
always thought he was a funny looking boy— rather 
stout, with a large mouth and a queer nose, and such 
very straight hair, which never would submit itself 
gracefully to brush and comb. Well, this day he looked 
very nice and clean, which was not always the case, but 
his hair stood out in every direction, and as soon as he 
stood on the platform he made his bow and struck an at- 
titude, and at the top of his voice began — 



30 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

" At midnight, in his guarded tent, 
The Turk was dreaming of the hour," 

and went on with the whole of that beautiful poem with 
an indescribable enthusiasm, striking out right and left 
with his arms, and getting very red in the face; but when 
he came to the " sentries' shriek " — 

"To arms! They come! the Greek! the Greek! " 

he gave a yell which fairly made me jump. I suppose 
everybody liked it very much, for they all looked pleased 
when he took his seat, and Grandfather said to him in a 
low voice as he passed him, " Put a stocking around thy 
throat to-night when thee goes to bed " ; so I knew he 
was afraid he would be sick after his efforts. But George 
was a tough little chap, and he only laughed when 
Grandfather spoke, knowing well enough it would take 
more than that to make his throat sore. 

After several dialogues and other pieces being spoken, 
John came up, and I thought he looked elegant. He 
was a graceful boy, and had a mild countenance, which 
made me think everybody must love him. He and 
another boy were to repeat the dialogue between Brutus 
and Cassius, in Shakespeare's play of " Julius Caesar." 
I thought they both spoke well, but long afterward, 
when I read it myself, I found it was a quarrel, which 
I should never have suspected from the way the boys 
spoke. I know when there was a real quarrel at school 
they never talked in that quiet way, and so it seems to 
me now that if John and George could have been mixed 
up a little that day, they would both have been improved 
and I should have understood it better. When John 
said — 

" Oh, I could weep my spirit from mine eyes," — 

he seemed to have a dreadful fit of crying in his hand- 
kerchief, but he got over it very suddenly, for, with the 
teacher's ruler in one hand, he said, " There's my dag- 



WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. 31 

ger! " and, slapping himself very hard on his coat, he 
said, " Here's rny naked breast! " — which made a great 
impression, I am sure, on all that heard him. When 
he went to his seat I whispered to a lady who sat near 
me, " That's my brother," for I was sure everybody must 
admire him. 

After a while Saide came forward to speak " Isabella 
of Austria," by Whittier. I had heard it hundreds of 
times at home when she was preparing for the examina- 
tion, but this time I thought she was better than ever. 
She was rather tall of her age, and very slender, and had 
light yellow hair, which she wore under a net whenever 
it was not lost, which was a frequent misfortune with 
her. When she came to the part, " She raised her jew- 
eled hand, and flung her veiling tresses back," Saide gave 
her hair an extra tuck under her net, which seemed to 
me very appropriate indeed. She looked as much like 
Isabella of Austria or any other queen as any little girl 
could, I am sure, and they all must have thought so, too. 
Saide made a face at me as she took her seat, as much 
as to say, " Here I am again," as a sort of encouragement 
that it was soon over, so I need not be afraid; but I was 
glad several others were called first. 

Fanny and Sallie Chambers had a dialogue together. 
One pretended to be the husband of the other; both were 
very much dissatisfied, and neither was willing to think 
it could be his own fault, but each was always blaming 
the other. They spoke their parts very well, only once one 
made a mistake and said the wrong thing, which made 
them laugh, and it was some time before they could go 
on. Fanny whispered to me when she came to sit down, 
" One of those hateful boys made a face at me, and it 
made me laugh so I forgot my place." I was dreadfully 
frightened when it came to my turn, and it was a little 
confusing to have everybody look at me when I walked 
up to the platform. I was to say — 



32 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

" I am monarch of all I survey," 

which I succeeded in doing without any mistake, by 
keeping my eyes fixed steadily on the floor; but when 
I came back to my seat, Cousin Alice, who was grown 
up, looked at me and smiled, and nodded her head en- 
couragingly, so I felt happy, and ran over and sat down 
by Mother, who made me feel very comfortable. As I 
was then right in the midst of the audience, I could lis- 
ten to all the remarks about the speakers, and was sur- 
prised to find they were not always complimentary. I 
was especially indignant at Sister Mary, who was grown 
up, and was really going to be married, and ought to 
have known better; she whispered to her neighbor, " It 
is really a shame to let the children murder Whittier's 
poems in this way; it is bad enough in other things, but 
I cannot bear to have my especial favorites made ridicu- 
lous." I could hardly wait until after school to tell 
Saide and Fanny about it, and they were outraged at 
her. " I do not suppose she ever learned to say a piece 
in her life," said Saide, " and she don't how it ought to 
be done." " Oh, yes, she does," said Fanny; " for she 
knows ever so much; whenever we any of us begin any- 
thing she can go straight on with it, and we never ask 
her a question about our lessons but she always answers 
right off, and I am sure she is the whole time reading, 
so she ought to know a great deal." " Well, that makes 
no difference," said Saide, contemptuously; " the more 
she knows, the more she might believe that we can do 
something as well as she." " I wonder how she liked 
George in ( Marco Bozzaris/ " said I. " I could not 
help wishing he would not get so red in the face, and 
look so swelled up." "What are you talking about, 
girls? " said George, coming up to us. " Oh, about lit- 
tle boys who think themselves big," said Fanny, " and 
scream at the top of their voices, enough to scare us all 
to death." "Pshaw!" said George; "girls don't know 



WHEN" I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. 33 

how to speak warlike pieces; when people are in battle 
they don't stop to think how it sounds ." " Yes, but yon 
were not in battle at first/' said Saide ; " yon were talk- 
ing about a man who was asleep, and yet you screamed 
at the top of your voice." " No, I didn't/' said George; 
" I never thought of screaming until I had to waken 
him; but this is the way you go/' and, suiting the action 
to the word, George said, " She raised her jeweled hand 
and flung her veiling tresses back," punching his hair 
all up in a bunch behind. We all laughed, and Saide 
ran after him with a stick, but he got away from her, 
and Saide said he was a goose. 

Our examination was at last over, for the whole audi- 
ence dispersed after some very wise remarks from one 
of the committee, and compliments passed on the teach- 
ers and the children, which we all thought were fully 
deserved. Uncle George said he thought we had shown 
considerable knowledge of our parts, but suggested that 
if the people wanted to get a correct idea of our attain- 
ments it could be done better by visiting the school some 
other time than on examination day. Then everybody 
began to shake hands and talk, and we children shouted 
and ran in every direction, being thoroughly charmed 
with the whole performance. I heard Mother say to 
Father, as they walked home, " I think exhibition would 
be a better name than examination, for there was no ex- 
amination except through Uncle George, and the result 
proved that the children had been pushed on just for 
this day!" Father laughed and said, "Oh, well; it 
pleases the people." "But it is not the right thing," 
said Mother; "it gives the children a false ambition, 
more for a show of knowledge than the reality, and it 
does no good, I am sure." 

In these days examinations are different, I suppose, 
though every little boy or girl I see going to school car- 
ries twice as many books as we used to have; but, of 



34 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

course, they know twice as much. We had a satchel, 
which John carried, that held all the books for the whole 
party, and it was not a very heavy load either. George 
carried the dinner basket, and he declared it was by far 
the heavier; but John had to carry the books both ways, 
and the basket was light coming home. I suppose the 
difference was more than made up. Grandfather said 
we had too many books; that we would use our own 
brains better if we did not depend so much upon other 
people. But what would he think if he could see the 
children go to school now-a-days, with more books for 
each one than we ever had for all. His great motto 
was, " What is worth doing at all is worth doing well," 
and he thought we could not be too thorough in our 
studies. He said, " You must not cram yourselves with 
knowledge, but use it; even a little that is used will be 
worth more than a great deal you cannot use." Now, 
when I see the children poring over a great pile of books, 
I wonder how much of it is used, or if it is only meant to 
cultivate memory; for surely their little brains cannot 
digest all the food that is given them. However, I be- 
lieve I am getting old-fashioned too, but all the little 
folks, I am sure, must be ever so much smarter now 
than " when I was a little girl." 




F. S. S. S. M. S. 

THE THREE SISTERS — 1854 



CHAPTER III. 

OLD JOUEXALS. 

The spirit of destruction in regard to her own writ- 
ings was often in the ascendant, and occasionally she 
would make a wholesale sweep. From extracts from her 
former journals, which I discovered lately, I find that 
about 1881 or 1882 she made a bonfire of the daily rec- 
ord of twenty years. She commences: 

Old Journals ! Twenty years piled up before me, and 
surely in that time some lessons might be learned. Alas! 
" She grew not wise, nor grows; experience with a world 
of sighs purchased, and tears and heart-break had been 
hers, and taught her nothing; where she erred she errs." 
Still, before committing all these little books to the fire, 
I will at least refresh my memory, and keep such ex- 
tracts from their pages as may best show me myself, just 
as I was, and possibly just as T am, only praying that 
some good may come out of it all. 

To look back with regret upon lost opportunities may 
help me even at this late day to seize the few that are re- 
maining; to live over again some tender recollections, 
and to bring into life those that are gone, must have its 
influence in gentle thoughts toward the living; and to 
acknowledge the continued mercy of a loving Father, 
who has guided my wayward steps, and answered my 
prayers in His own best way, must of itself be an edu- 
cation in higher things, and a strengthening of my fal- 
tering faith. 

Before beginning extracts from my old journals, let 
me write out Phoebe Cary's " Pteconciled," which em- 
bodies all I would sav: 



36 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

O, years gone down into the past, 
What pleasant memories come to me 

Of your untroubled days of peace, 
And hours of almost ecstasy! 

Yet would I have no moon stand still, 
Where life's most pleasant valleys lie; 

Nor whirl the planet of the day 
Back on his pathway through the sky. 

For though, when youthful pleasures died, 
My youth itself went with them too; 

To-day, aye, even this very hour, 
Is the best time I ever knew. 

Not that my Father gives to me 
More blessings than in days gone by, 

Dropping in my uplifted hands 
All things for which I vainly cry. 

But that His plans and purposes 
Have grown to me less strange and dim, 

And when I cannot understand 
I trust the issues unto Him. 

And spite of many broken dreams, 
This have I truly learned to say, 

The prayers I thought unanswered once, 
Were answered in God's own best way. 

And though some dearly cherished hopes 
Perished untimely in their birth, 

Yet have I been beloved and blessed 
Beyond the measure of my worth. 

And sometimes in my hours of grief, 
For moments I have come to stand 

Where, in the sorrows on me laid, 
I felt the loving Father's hand. 

And I have learned, the weakest ones 
Are kept securest from life's harms, 

And that the tender lambs alone 
Are carried in the Shepherd's arms. 



OLD JOURNALS — 1855. 37 

And sitting by the wayside blind, 

He is the nearest to the light 
Who crieth out most earnestly, 

"Lord, that I might receive my sight! " 

O, feet grown weary as ye walk, 
When down life's hill my pathway lies, 

What care I, while my soul can mount, 
As the young eagle mounts the skies? 

O, eyes with weeping faded out, 

What matters it how dim ye be? 
My inner vision sweeps untired, 

The reaches of Eternity. 

0, death, most dreaded power of all, 
When the last moment comes, and thou 

Darkenest the windows of my soul, 
Through which I look on Nature now, 

Yea, when mortality dissolves, 
Shall I not meet thine hour unawed? 

My house eternal in the heavens 
Is lighted by the smile of God! 

i 

1604 Green Street, Saturday, January 6th, 1855. 

Here I am at Brother John's,, trying to help the 
wheels of domestic machinery to run smoothly. Carrie 
has not had much experience as a housekeeper, and I as 
little, hut two heads are sometimes better than one. 
Father and Mother took dinner here, and I was glad to 
hear the news from home. Mother was at Wilmington 
with Fanny on Wednesday, looking for houses and see- 
ing about furniture. She tells me they have taken a 
snug little house on the hill for her, overlooking the 
beautiful stretch of country back of Wilmington. As 
to furniture, her judgment is that it is best to purchase 
it in Philadelphia, and her judgment is always the best. 
Fanny thinks it quite imperative I should go with her 
in making her selection, and I shall be glad to do it in 



38 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

one way, but it is a breezy sort of life, truly, to be helping 
to scatter the home circle, and make things forlorn for 
one's self. It was bad enough to have John marry and 
go away from home, but to have Fanny follow in his 
footsteps, is a little beyond forbearance. However, the 
mischief is done, and engaged people are awful bores in 
the house, and they might as well be out of it. Of 
course, I shall try to keep up a feeling of relief about it, 
for, in spite of nearer interests, T know Fanny will miss 
us all, and I shall feel lost without her. We have had 
such good times together, and always understand each 
other so easily, and no matter how at cross purposes 
things go, we can always get comfort from one another. 
She doesn't know how much I think about her going, 
and is quite absorbed in her prospects: and that is nat- 
ural, but I just hate it. 

Tuesday, 9th 
This is a poor place to get any reading done, but still, 
" When there's a will, there's a way." To-day I actually 
read aloud to Carrie in " Wensley," and Lucy was good 
enough to keep still long enough for some real interest 
in the book, even for her Mother. She becomes every 
day more engrossing, and is certainly the head of the 
house at present, and we all her abject slaves. I do not 
submit quite so willingly as I might, for, though I really 
love her very much, I have a secret feeling that babies 
are a good deal of trouble, and make their parents very 
uninteresting and absorbed. I have been so used to 
being first-best with John, and now I am less and less, 
from no fault of his or mine, but simply from the force 
of circumstances. 

Went down to Brother Edward's for a while to-day; 
found him looking very poorly, and poor Sis battling 
against the inevitable. I wonder if she truly thinks he 
will get well, or if her eyes are blinded that she cannot 
see what is so plainly written on his brow. 



OLD JOUKNALS — 1855. 39 

January 16th. 

Eli called to see me to-day, and brought me a splendid 
likeness of himself and Fanny, gotten up in grand style. 
Of course I am grateful, but would have been much 
more so if he had never had the chance to do it. He is 
very nice, and at present is walking with his head in the 
stars, but I cannot imagine how Fanny is to find in him 
a substitute for all she gives up. 

January 21st. 
Father and Mother were in last night at Brother Ed- 
ward's, whom they found very poorly, and Sis thor- 
oughly alarmed. 

January 26th. 

At last I seem likely to be released from here, and 
shall be glad to get home, now that I can leave Carrie 
with an easy mind. The new girl has come, and things 
are adjusting themselves to run smoothly. Well, mat- 
rimony is dreadfully practical. I guess it is just as well 
my mind is not set on it, for there are lots of disenchant- 
ments, and perhaps my philosophy would not hide them 
from me, or my love be equal to*the requirements. 

January 30th. 

Oh, how nice it is to be home again, and Mother and I 
have had such a good talk. I told her all my complaints 
about being less and less to John, and how I felt pro- 
voked at Eli and Fanny for thinking they were exempt 
from all social requirements. It did me good to talk 
over it all, though she did not agree with me in any- 
thing, and found more to laugh at than to mourn over in 
my long talk. She always thinks happiness will come if 
we do not insist upon expecting it in just our own way, 
and suggested to me that if I could bring myself to think 
more of them, and less of M. S., the result would be 
better. I would not miss being first with John or with 
Fanny, knowing that they were happy, and Nature must 



40 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

certainly be a better guide than my own individual plan 
of life. It is all very well to talk, and Mother truly be- 
lieves it is for the best, and had the hardihood to suggest 
even my disappointments were good for me; but I am 
very unbelieving, and only get comfort by forgetting. 

February 7th. 

Clem Smyth came this afternoon, and stayed all night. 
I do not know how to be decent to him, knowing his er- 
rand, but there is no use in trying to keep the family 
together now; they are being scattered as fast as possible. 
Not long since Alice said, " Oh, your family just seems 
like a perfect June day, full and running over with love- 
liness and contentment." I think the June is past now, 
and the dry season has set in; — dog days, or their equiv- 
alent. No life in the air, and this last visit of Clem's 
makes me feel as if there were a climax approaching. 
Oh, I wish he would go home, and never come again. It 
does seem to me the height of assurance for a young 
man to come into such a complete home circle and try 
to break it up; but Nature, as Mother says, is the ruling 
element, — not my will, which " is strong, but not wise." 
And then to think I was such a goose to sing to him all 
evening. 

March 14th. 

We have had a week of quilting, and the preparations 
for Fanny's outfit go surely and slowly on. The next 
thing it will be Saide's turn, and then what will home 
be? 

Cousin Lou Smyth has been here, and she is so nice. 
I have been reading aloud to them all when my eyes 
would permit, and then I knit every minute I can at 
Fanny's curtains. I will hardly get through with them 
when I must begin a set for Saide, and truly the spirit 
of matrimony is getting monotonous in this family. 



OLD JOURNALS — 1855. 41 

March 17th. 

Heard of the accession to Brother George's family, — 
a little boy, — and I hope he may live to be a comfort 
to them. Belle is a nice little girl, and brought up so 
far by plummet and rule. I have been reading Memoirs 
of Mary Ware, which is truly delightful and instructive. 
I guess she did not have any bad propensities; she lived 
for others, and that was the secret of her usefulness and 
happiness. I live as a contrast to her, and hope some- 
body will be benefited by it. 

March 30th. 

Brother Edward and Sister Mary stopped a little 
while this morning in their daily drive. He looks dread- 
fully, and she so young and fresh and blooming. Oh, 
how hard it is! Carrie and I have had quite a time shop- 
ping in the fancy articles this few days past, trying to 
get something pretty for Fanny's bridal presents. One 
has to have her taste continually marred by the unfor- 
tunate fact of short purses, but we finally succeeded in 
suiting both, and Fanny is charmed with the result. 

April 1st. 

The bridal party here to dinner, and would have 
stayed to tea, but the sad news from Philadelphia, of 
course, broke it all up, and we were glad enough to have 
them go. Nicholas Tyler is a goose; he had to be al- 
most pushed out of the house. Well, the end has come 
which we all so dreaded, and Sister Mary is a widow, 
with a tearless, stony grief that breaks one's heart to see. 
How little all our occupations of the past month seem 
in the face of this desolation! Mother went in, of 
course, and she of all others carries comfort with her; 
but words are powerless and sympathy unavailing. The 
comfort must come from the Hand that has dealt the 
blow. Saide, too, is with Sis, and she is full of consola- 
tion, just by her cheery, hopeful, healthful tone of mind, 



42 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

which is unfailing. All we can do is nothing, and yet 
we must do that little. God has her in His tender care, 
and we are perhaps instruments in His hand, and hy 
that alone are ahle for the work He has for us to do. 
My impulse is always to do nothing, lest I bruise some 
tender spot; but I can at least amuse and interest the 
children. They will never know their father, for all 
their recollections will be of sickness and misery; and I 
am so sorry, for he was such a fond father, and a wise 
one, too. Sis always leaned upon him so much; how 
will she ever learn to stand alone, and fill the place to the 
children beside? But she has depths in her nature that 
have not been exhausted. 

April 10th. 

Dear little Bessie has been here ever since her father's 
death, and of course is utterly unconscious of any trou- 
ble. She is a bright, pretty little thing, and never-end- 
ing in her variety of amusements. It seems hard to 
think that her sunny disposition could ever be darkened 
by care or trouble, but it comes soon enough to all in 
one way or another. 

Mother and I sat in the twilight this evening, and I 
sang to her; all the rest were engaged or out of the way. 
Afterward she told me some stories of her youth, and re- 
called this as the anniversary of her wedding. In the 
midst of our nice little time, Nicholas Tyler came, and 
I was sorry enough, for I felt a shadow of stupidity the 
moment of his arrival, which was amply fulfilled every 
minute he stayed. 

April 2lst. 

All this week Saide and I have spent at Wilmington 
getting Fanny's house in order. Cousin Lou and Mary 
Anna helped us, and Clem was devoted, of course. Oh, 
there is no use in contending against fate; he will be the 
next dispensation. 



OLD JOUKNALS — 1855. 43 

April 27th. 

Yesterday morning Fanny was married. We, trie 
bridesmaids and groomsmen, escorted her to her new 
home. It did look perfectly sweet on our arrival, every- 
thing in order, and just as pretty a little house as a bride 
could desire. Fanny was in raptures over everything, 
and new over the house with Eli dangling after her, of 
course. We had a funny time at dinner, and Eli was 
just as simple and funny as he could be. This morn- 
ing we left them standing on their steps waving good- 
bye to the bridal party as we drove off, bound for home. 
I was so tired of Nicholas Tyler, and would not prolong 
the time by letting him bring me out home, but made 
an excuse to go to Sister Mary's when I bowed him off; 
and he had not been gone ten minutes before I flew on 
the wings of the wind for home. They were surprised 
to see me, and Mother laughed till the tears ran down 
her cheeks when I told her of our various adventures, 
not forgetting poor Nicholas, who certainly was an at- 
tentive groomsman. 

May 4th. 
Father and Mother just returned from a visit to 
Fanny, a surprise to her and a great delight. Mother 
says she seems perfectly happy, and Eli is " so good and 
kind "; and why shouldn't he be? He has gained every- 
thing and lost nothing, so it is no credit to him. When 
I am good, and kind, and gentle, and considerate, there 
will be some merit in it. I called over to see Rachel 
Lewis, or rather Sellers (though she is always Lewis to 
me), and we had such a nice talk. There are some things 
I cannot understand, and perhaps never will. She is not 
only the earliest, but still my dearest friend. It begins 
to look now almost like infatuation to call her so, but 
against all reason the feelings will prevail, and mine 
cling to her in spite of all the mysterious past. 



44 THE STOET OF A LIFE. 

June 7th. 
To-day was for the children's picnic. Alice's school 
was in ecstasies of delight. I was to take Sister Mary's 
children, who have been looking forward to it with such 
delight. Alas! the rain comes down in torrents, and 
everybody is disappointed. My thoughts have been too 
much on myself to-day for my own good, or rather they 
have wandered off to C. B. S. ? who is my dread. He is 
bound to marry Saide, that is evident, and — well, I hate 
him. 

July 14th. 

Eli and Fanny came up this afternoon. I was in the 

bath when they arrived, but dear little Fin routed me 

out. Oh, but I was glad to see her, and we had such a 

nice old-fashioned talk. It is too dreadful to think of 

gradual separations, which are sure to steal upon us, 

but I battle against the inevitable. We have such a 

large family now — Sister Mary and her children, beside 

John and Carrie, with their little Lucy. Mother's heart 

is so open, her sympathies so warm and quick, she would 

fill the house all the time; but we girls are getting pretty 

tired of it. 

August 1st. 

Mother came home to-day, after making a visit of a 
week to Fanny. I suppose it was short to her, but the 
dullest and longest one to us at home. Everything 
seems changed for the better and brighter the minute 
Mother enters the door. What a big place she fills for 
everybody, and yet, when did she ever assert herself? 
She never seems to have a thought that is not for others. 
Oh, Mother dear, live forever! This afternoon C. B. S. 
made his appearance again, and it is a sure thing that he 
is bound to make some kind of mischief. Saide looked 
so badly, and he himself looked like a ghost when he 
went away, and, oh dear, if she cares for him, what shall 
I do? Mother is so sweet and tender with her, and I 



OLD JOURNALS — 1855. 45 

truly believe she thinks more of her daughters if they 
are sought by the male gender. She got a pretty little 
rocking-chair the other day, "For my married daugh- 
ters," she said, but I have taken care to appropriate it 
ever since, and see no reason why girls who are minus 
lovers should not be made comfortable. 

September 8th. 

Well, I am home again, and glad enough to get here. 
A trip all made up for the benefit of my health, and 
such a trip! Father and Mother and Saide, and at the 
last moment an addition, in the shape of C. B. S., as 
baggage-master. Anybody could see what would be the 
result. Mother did nothing but laugh at my indigna- 
tion, and all poor Clem's kind attentions and lover-like 
devotion, to me were so much fuel to the flame of my 
wrath. Well, we went to Niagara, and I was always con- 
veniently tired when they wanted to walk out by moon- 
light, and always out of the way when they came back. 
The result was sure, and of course I could not stop it, 
and I might as well let things take their course. On 
our return trip, at Pittsburg, Saide told me of her en- 
gagement, and I guess I behaved quite as well as she ex- 
pected. At any rate, her lover was in good spirits, and 
thought he was doing a neat thing by giving me a copy 
of the " Memoirs of Sydney Smith," writing under my 
name, " For being a good girl." If he had looked into 
my heart, he would not have found much goodness there; 
at least, I did not. 

September 18th. 

Brother William and Mary F. were out over Sunday, 
and she read aloud to me a long while. Kate is the 
dearest little thing, and so beautifully managed, but so 
refreshingly natural. Alice walked up from Darby this 
afternoon, and read Kenilworth all evening aloud to 
me. Father and Mother in town this evening to hear 
C. C. Burleigh. 



46 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

October 2d. 
This is my twenty-fifth birthday. How strange it is 
that our ideas alter as we grow older! When I was in 
my teens I looked forward to twenty-five as far advanced 
in middle age; now I feel as young as I did then; but, 
alas, for the character which should be formed! for 
surely it ought to be so different. One never thinks 
that it is the minutes and hours that make up life; we 
always count by years, and think changes of time will 
make us what we desire or what we should be. It is 
to-day we must alter, to-day in which our character is 
building up, to-day that the disposition for good or for 
evil, for happiness or unhappiness, is fastening itself 
upon us. Oh, help me, good Father, to be different; 
teach me the way in which I should walk, and, above all, 
keep me from my besetting sin of selfishness. Mother 
helps me all the time, not by words, but simply by ap- 
preciation, by keeping me at my best; but without her, 
I seem to have no real strength. It was only to-day, in 
one of our many little talks, she told me there was so 
much danger in weighing every action, and criticising 
each motive of one's life. The only thing is to " do the 
duty that lies nearest," doing it cheerfully, u as unto the 
Lord, and not unto men." Love of approbation is my 
continual temptation, but surely help will be given if I 
truly ask for it. 

November 10th. 
I have just returned from a nice visit at Fanny's, and 
have talked a straight stream ever since I have been 
home. Saide gave in as many experiences on her side 
of affairs at home, and Mother sat by and shrugged her 
shoulders at our lively confab. Alice came up to see 
me, and talked about school examinations, and I gave 
various specimens of youthful declamations for their 
benefit, and poor Mother was quite exhausted laughing. 



OLD JOURNALS 1856. 47 

December 3d. 
Saide and I have been papering the dining-room, and 
have about concluded we will not interfere with legiti- 
mate paper-hangers again. It looks very nice, however, 
and Mother is delighted. I spent a good deal of time 
lying out flat on the table when Saide was ready to 
spread the paper there, or at times indulging in a dab 
of paste on her devoted head. Then I repeated to her 
some of her youthful poetry, and caused some delay 
thereby, but it is all done now, and who cares? 

February 8th, 1856. 
Mother read Scott aloud to me to-day, and brought 
back to my mind very forcibly the old times when we 
were children, and gathered around her chair while she 
fascinated us with Lady of the Lake. It is truly won- 
derful to me, with all the opposing circumstances with 
which she has been surrounded, that Mother has such 
a real love of poetry and general literature. I know if 
I had to do all that she does, and arrange for the com- 
fort of others continually, with the various interruptions 
incident to the head of a household, my taste for litera- 
ture would fall off from sheer inability to fix my wan- 
dering thoughts. This evening Alice came, and we 
began Prescott's " Conquest of Peru," which is as inter- 
esting as a novel, and full of picturesque and graceful 
delineations of character and scenery and circumstance. 
What a power of language he has — so full and clear, 
and yet so simple! He fills my ideal of a writer. 

February 12th. 
To-day Mother and I spent quite alone, partly in 
reading aloud to each other in " Conquest of Peru/' 
partly in talking over family affairs. She thinks it is a 
pity to let ourselves dwell on our possible losses in the 
future, which I am too much inclined to do; but she 
cannot help but acknowledge that the past year has been 



48 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

a pretty hard one for me. Our family circle lessened 
so much, and likely to be still less before long! It seems 
to me when I think of the future, without my dear 
" Sary," that home will be too lonesome and forlorn to 
deserve the name; and yet we only live one day at a time, 
and if every day could be like this, what could be hap- 
pier? Surely, never was there so companionable a 
Mother, and we do have such good times together; but 
it makes my heart sink with a nameless dread when I 
see her grow tired so easily, and I wonder how any loss 
can weigh with me, so long as I can keep her, and surely 
I cannot do enough to show my love and thankfulness 
for such a blessing. 

March 18th. 
"Well, the question before me now is, whether it is 
better not to depend upon any one person or thing for 
one's happiness. Surely experience would teach me that 
this would be the part of wisdom, and yet I am made 
just the other way, with all the impulses of dependence, 
and minus the wisdom. It is not enough that one after 
the other of our family circle must leave a blank, and 
fill me with a sense of loneliness and desertion; but my 
constant friend and companion, Alice, must suddenly 
take her departure for Illinois, and make me wish I had 
never heard anything about her. It is a besetting sin of 
mine to cling to a few, indeed, too few; and Mother often 
tells me how much happier I would be if my sympathies 
and interests were enlarged, and my devotion to one, 
divided and sub-divided into reasonable limits, so that 
the sense of loss would not be so terrible when it came. 
Yes, that is all true; but I am what I am, and the sense 
of loss is terrible in the present, and simply appalling in 
the future. Alice is gone, and that is all I can think 
of and truly realize. 



OLD JOUKNALS — 1856. 49 

April 10th. 

Cousin Lucy Smyth came to-day, and they are all 
now in the midst of quilting; just a year ago engaged in 
the same business for Fanny. It is getting monotonous, 
and matrimony is very prosaic to outsiders, whatever it 
may be to the parties interested. I wrote a long letter 
to Alice, and expressed my views on this and kindred 
subjects. All I want now is good, strong health, which 
I have never had, just to cast care to the winds, and 
have some resources that are usual to other girls. Why 
should I mourn over losses that are all natural and 
right, and why should I grieve over a temporary separa- 
tion from Alice? It is all morbid and absurd, and cer- 
tainly not enlivening in its effect. We have quite a 
large party of quilters. I am the only idle one, as my 
eyes will not permit such work; but I have talked enough 
and made them laugh, and they vote me a hindrance in- 
stead of a help. 

June 4th. 

This evening at six Saicle and Clem were married, 
and I am really thankful it is over. If they could not 
be happy without each other, why prolong the agony? 
The last few months have been a great strain on every- 
body, and the only comfortable way to be married would 
be to strictly obey the Scripture injunction, " Take no 
thought of what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink, or 
wherewithal ye shall be clothed." Saide looked very 
pretty, and I do not wonder Clem is so proud; but he 
has never depended for his happiness upon her as I have 
for so many years, and yet he thinks I have no right or 
title in her any more. The audacity and self-sufficiency 
it takes to make a man and a husband are truly wonder- 
ful. 

June 5th. 

Started for Wilmington early this morning in the 
bridal party. I was home-sick before I got out of the 



50 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

yard, but " try to be as proper as I can." Arrived at 
Saide's new home, and found it a bower of roses inside 
and out. Lots of callers this evening. 

November 22d. 
Mother and I spent this day alone, she reading aloud 
to me Pascal's " Provincial Letters." I got the book 
when I was out at New Castle this summer, where I went 
with Alice on her return trip from the West. She 
thinks my selection of books is not always the kind for 
young girls, but this time I am sure it is all right in giv- 
ing me new views about Pascal. I always thought of 
him as a good man, but never particularly as a satirist. 
I am not able ever to see religion in controversy, and 
bigotry in any form savors of Jesuitism now. 

Friday, December 5th. 
I spent this day with Eachel Sellers, and feeling her- 
self so very near the other world, she made some dis- 
closures to me that are food for continual thought with 
me. The past, so far as she is concerned, is wrapped in 
mystery, but I am very sure her bark has gone down in 
deep waters, so far as this world's happiness goes. She 
is glad to die, and we talked together of the other world 
as well as of this, where I trust " there are gains for all 
our losses." It is hard to realize sometimes that we are 
all in the care of a good " Providence, which shapes our 
ends," for surely there are lots of mistakes made, and 

" Alas! how easily things go wrong, 
A word too much, or a sigh too long, 
Then follows a mist and a blinding rain, 
And life is never the same again." 

December 7th. 
This day E. Sellers died in the early morning, and I 
have to record in her memory that she has helped me 
into a deeper life than any other person in the world. 



OLD JOURNALS — 1857. 51 

She was my first friend, and in spite of all the trouble 
in the past, is still my friend. Our troubles often be- 
come our teachers, and mine go down very deep, and 
alter all my thoughts, and change my very hopes in the 
future. With her I seem to enter the other world and feel 
the nothingness of this; to look upon all the circum- 
stances of life and all the mysteries of misunderstand- 
ings as each a stepping-stone into the clearer day, when 
we can see each other face to face. 

April, 1857. 
" And still my days go on, go on." Not very much 
in them, either; but as " the present only is our own/' 
I suppose it must represent life. To be content with 
the past and the present, and trustful of the future, 
knowing that all is guarded and guided for the best, 
would be the real life. Alas! how easily we slide into 
the wish to develop under different circumstances. It 
would seem much easier to me to be good and useful and 
contented if there were not always in my path the strong 
desire to lean upon something or -somebody outside of 
myself; something to supplement my weakness, some- 
body whose strength would not let me fall. When I 
look back on my rich life of affection, when I was a 
center to all my brothers and sisters, it seems strange 
that I must so quickly learn to be nothing. It is only 
the law of nature, natural and right, which gives to 
some riches, and poverty to others; but the hard part of 
the poor is that they alone feel the difference. The rich 
in affection are contented and happy, and do not even 
understand loneliness, — that vague, fine line of separa- 
tion, which the poor in spirit must feel. 

May 6th. 
Mother and I have been sitting out on the little 
porch this afternoon, the first time this season. The 6un 
is so warm that the honeysuckle is in full bloom, and 



52 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

the whole orchard looks like fairy-land. She has been 
knitting, and I reading aloud to her. As we sat in this 
cozy fashion, I laid down my book and looked at her, 
wondering what was the fountain of strength and cheer- 
fulness which forever illumined her life. I fell into a 
dream over this, and went back into all the many strug- 
gles and discouragements in which she had come out tri- 
umphantly without seeming to know it. In my short 
memory her trials had been not a few, and yet she 
seemed to be beyond their power, and forever " walking 
in the garden in the cool of the day." I had gone thus 
far in my meditations (which were much quicker than 
this writing would indicate), when she looked at me in- 
quiringly, and asked why I did not go on reading; and 
so the next sentence was this: " Oh, John; our happy 
days are over; our children are children no more; but 
ours still, love, — always will be ours. What of that, 
when we can no longer make them happy? When they 
look for happiness to others, and not to us," etc. This, 
then, was one of the trials I had never thought of; never 
counted her losses, yet always dwelling on my own. ISTow, 
of all cheerful givers, she may be loved of the Lord. Xo 
thought of self, I truly believe, has ever come to mar 
her cheerful giving. 

August 10th. 

Mother and I took a walk up to the little house in 
the fields, where the air was so fresh and lovely we could 
hardly realize the heat of the day. We sat on the little 
porch, and Mother began her favorite occupation, of 
building a house. She has a natural instinct for im- 
provements, alterations and pretty decoration. No one 
surely could make our old house so attractive, but it 
seems more as if the graces of her spirit were working 
themselves into inanimate things, and this alchemy is a 
divine art. Well, with her it has worked under a load 
of difficulties and discouragements, and now, when this 



OLD JOURNALS 1858. 53 

burden is lifted, her own strength fails. Still, as she 
sat enjoying the wider horizon and fresher air of this 
little cottage, I could not but share her feeling in en- 
larging it mentally for the needs of our household. I 
love every stone and stick of our old home, where we 
children were born, and where every association has been 
so pleasant. Still I know that it must always be a strain 
upon Mother to keep the " level of every day's most 
quiet needs " in such surroundings. There is a natural 
striving with her towards the conveniences and luxuries 
of life, and that fine instinct of the beautiful, which is 
crushed in the dilapidated condition of our old home, 
and the hopelessness of much change in it. Therefore, 
in building a castle she removes it from this entirely. 
We sat on for less than an hour in the shaded porch of 
the little cottage, but meantime she had built up beside 
it an ample hall, and comfortable wide parlors, with 
airy chambers above. 

April 12th, 1858. 

Our work this winter has been delightful to Mother 
in making plans for the house of which she has so long 
dreamed. Father was easily persuaded by his sons that 
he might as well improve this property, so we have had 
many meetings and much converse on the subject. Mother 
thinks of it night and day, and I think the occupation 
lifts her out of the weary drag of physical ailments. My 
own individual fears lie deep, and superstition aids them, 
so that I have no real pleasure in looking forward to the 
new home. John M. Gries has been employed as an 
architect, who proves an agreeable companion as well. 
He was thought to be a married man, and as such became 
quite intimate in the family. In a weak moment Mother 
asked about his wife, which developed the fact that he 
had none, and Alice immediately jumped to the con- 
clusion that he was mingling business with pleasure in 
coming here so much. 



54 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

June 20th. 

The new house grows fast, and each day Mother rides 
up to look at it, and to tire herself out wandering from 
room to room. To-day we sat down on some loose 
boards, and furnished the parlor in imagination. Mother 
was greatly relieved to find I had no craving for new 
furniture, but the large mahogany table between the 
windows was as far as my mind would work. Indeed, 
when I looked at Mother's pale, spiritual face, my heart 
was too heavy with dread to help her in the arrange- 
ments. While we sat there Mr. Gries walked in, and 
was so very suggestive that I hated him. Beside this he 
brought me a great lumbering book on the " Eemains of 
Nineveh," which I do not care to read. We walked 
home together, down by the creek, and got into the 
deepest kind of discourses. 

October 2d. 

This is my birthday, and how old I am getting! Still 
I truly do not feel as old as when I was in my teens. 
Troubles were more on the outside then, and very real, 
but as we go on in life there are quiet little places devel- 
oped into which we retire to hold communion with our- 
selves and get our strength renewed; where our sorrows 
are sealed up, and peace given in their stead. Life is at 
least richer to me now, and I am thankful for all the good 
gifts. Our " schools and schoolmasters " are many and 
varied, and sometimes we are lifted up beyond ourselves, 
and see with a vague compassion the trials and tempta- 
tions through which we pass, and, looking down as a 
spirit might, are able to fathom the purpose of it all. 
The appointed life for me, I know, is not happiness, but 
submission; and although I feel on my birthday that I 
am growing old, I am yet too young to resign with con- 
tentment all that makes life rich to others. A solemn, 
anxious feeling clouds my mind, which will not quite 



OLD JOUKNALS — 1858. 55 

cover these inward assurances, and yet forces me to be- 
lieve that " to be, to do, and to suffer " is as much my 
life as to love and be loved. 

" We ask not that our path be always bright 
But for Thine aid to walk therein aright; 
That Thou, O Lord, through all its devious way 
Wilt give us strength sufficient to our day; 
For this, for this we pray." 



CHAPTEE IV. 

1855 and 1856. 

In looking over Pattie's letters, written just after my 
marriage and in anticipation of Saide's, there is much of 
sadness and regret for the change that has come upon 
Millbourne. In a letter without date, written during 
the summer of 1855, just after Sister Saide's engage- 
ment, she says: 

Yes, indeed, dear Fin, I am the one to be written to. 
Why should thee write to anyone else from this time 
forth for evermore, when I need every drop of comfort 
thee can give me; but, alas! thee cannot give me back 
what I had two years ago, — both my sisters, and no 
shadow of foreboding that I should be left without them. 
The picture of Millbourne without you is too desolate for 
me to dwell upon, and I turn from its contemplation 
whenever I can, but it haunts me. 

November 15th, 1855, she writes: 

When I look back to the buoyancy of feeling I once 
had, I feel as though I had come to know that " there is 
nothing new under the sun," and, doubting and indif- 
ferent, shape out another less exciting existence than 
that of finding pleasures abundant on every side, and 
trust and confidence in them all, though I wish many 
times to be able to return to the old way. Alas! having 
once lost the confidence of childhood, and admitted the 
doubting fiend, it is impossible to retrace our steps, 
though we may long to do so, and " the sin that is en- 
gendered earliest in the soul " feeds upon all its beauty. 
" If there is anything that keeps the mind open to an- 
gels' visits, and repels the ministry of ill, 'tis human 



1855 and 1856. 57 

love "; so that when I find the gradual increase of indif- 
ference to everything stealing upon me, it is with real 
sorrow I feel myself closing the door to the good influ- 
ences it brings, though repentance is but the repetition 
of itself with me, and, like Cousin Ned, I feel constantly 
that " good resolutions are the easiest things in the world 
to make, but most awful hard to keep." 

I wish thee could have listened, with me, to the life 
and some of the letters of Sargent Prentiss, which Alice 
has favored me with these two past evenings; though I 
don't believe he was a very religious man, yet he had just 
those talents and affections which are so fascinating to 
me, and that intellectual superiority which one cannot 
help but admire. She was to have read me " Paradise 
Lost/' but we got interested in this, and now will prob- 
ably leave the other till a more convenient season; be- 
sides, I don't believe I am at all capable of appreciating 
it, as I have repeatedly told her, but she does not under- 
stand the real reason I have for doubting my capacity, 
as my ideas of heaven are just sufficiently Quakeristic to 
make me dread putting materiar forms upon spiritual 
things, as the Swedenborgians do, and as Milton must 
necessarily attempt in portraying the lost Eden. I 
remember trying to read Klopstock's " Messiah," and I 
utterly failed in appreciation just on this account. I 
don't like the feeling at all, but can't avoid it, and won- 
der often whether it is only because my spiritual exist- 
ence is so vague and shadowy that such should be the 
case, or whether it is the instinctive shrinking of the 
spirit from material forms to aid its life. 

The day after thee left, Saide and I spent alone, as 
Father and Mother were away, and thee may be sure our 
tongues were as busy as possible recounting our numerous 
exciting adventures in absence one from the other. My 
stories were listened to with profound attention and I 
hung up Wilmington in a picture, the foreground of 



58 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

i 

which was thy pleasant little home. Sary enjoyed my re- 
cital of our doings, and wondered I had the determina- 
tionto resist the pleasure of a visit to Uncle Joseph's with 
Cousin Lou, which certainly was a temptation, but ihee 
knows how crazy I was to see Millbourne once again, and 
how lovely it was when I got here, with all its many at- 
tractions, which none can see but ourselves. Saide's 
questions came thicker and faster, particularly with re- 
gard to Father Smyth's family, and their doings and 
sayings, all of which I tried to satisfy her upon to the 
best of my ability, of course enlarging upon Cousin Lou, 
whom I can't help but love best of all, and who always 
inspires me with confidence and does me good through 
and through. She thinks them all perfection, no doubt, 
from Cousin David even down to Clem, but I restrain 
my expressions of devotion to the latter individual, wait- 
ing for further developments to show if he is really nice 
enough for her. However, it wouldn't do for two per- 
fect people to come together, and if he will only love her 
enough, and as much as she deserves, she can't help but 
be happy, and that is all my desire. 

Second-day afternoon I accompanied Saide and Na- 
than into town, where they left me at Sister Mary's, and 
proceeded on their way to Attleboro. They broke down 
at Frankford, and got to George's late in the evening. I 
remained with Sis till Third-day, when I went 
to see Dr. Ellis, who seemed quite encouraged 
about me, said I had such a " putty color," 
and I was afraid he would kiss me, but he didn't, 
— perhaps because he found I had " still bad humors 
upon my brain," — and gave me medicine to 
bring them out, saying, " Then you will be so clean," 
which state I anticipate with much pleasure. Either 
from his treatment or yours I certainly am a great deal 
stronger, and am quite willing to give you the full share 
of credit which you deserve. Could thee have seen me 



1855 and 1856. 59 

yesterday in Mother's absence, up to my eyes in busi- 
ness, — (imagine putting up her curtains and putting 
down her carpet, fixing her room, etc., etc.), — thee 
would not have imagined me an invalid, which indeed 
I am not, though I can't write long without getting very 
tired; but thee knows endurance is not a part of my 
constitution, and so I hope patience will take its place, 
and make me willing to submit to being less important 
than I desire. If my worth is to be estimated by my 
use I very much fear I shall be put down at the very 
lowest mark in the family, but thee knows Longfellow 
says: "Each thing in its place is best, and what seems 
but idle show, strengthens and supports the rest." Alas 
for show! thee will say; but, Fin, I can't help being ugly, 
so can only adopt Mrs. Browning's idea that " by my 
loving I am worthy as a king." 

Pattie was a great admirer of Dickens, and his novels 
were read by her again and again. It was a delight to 
her sisters to have her read them aloud, while they 
sewed; and as she read well, and despised sewing, the 
pleasure was mutual. 

Her letters are full of quotations from her favorite 
novelist. 

November 30th, 1855. 
Went over to William Garrett's, and Eachel read 
" Little Dorrit " to me, which I suppose thee has by this 
time; — most too much about the Circumlocution Office. 
I cannot understand exactly what he wants to attack in 
these remarks, but, like the Courts of Chancery, in 
" Bleak House," no doubt it will have a direct bearing 
upon some badly-managed institution. We all are more 
or less inclined, anyhow, to find out the way not to do a 
thing rather than to do it with promptness and despatch, 
so Dickens will show it up to the life, be sure. I expect 
thy new lounge will exemplify his box bed, which was 
boiling over with blankets, and so the lid wouldn't go 



60 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

down. The picture is now before me of a dowdy-look- 
ing individual like Fanny Dorrit, roused up to receive 
visitors, from off this aforesaid lounge, blankets and bed- 
clothes generally bubbling out at all sides, and Mrs. Gar- 
rett looking disconsolately round the room for some Lit- 
tle Dorrit to clean it up. Much better stir thyself up 
into life by reading the Tribune, and not merely glanc- 
ing at the Kansas news, but renew all anti-slavery senti- 
ments and all flagging zeal in the cause of freedom, to 
burn with indignation at the wrongs and outrages com- 
mitted there. Indeed, it is really dreadful, I think, and 
I am about ready to adopt Henry Ward Beecher's ideas 
about Sharpens rifles being useful, and indeed, necessary 
and right, where freedom is trampled upon so merci- 
lessly; and I don't wonder the women are ready, all of 
them, to do battle to maintain it. I would, I'm sure 
(saying this from a safe distance, thee sees), but at least 
I feel a near sympathy with all their efforts, and can 
heartily give them a God-speed in the establishment of 
freedom. 

Did thee hear about our going to hear Hiawatha 
read? We got there too late to get a very correct idea 
of it, and could only hear a stentorian voice shouting in 
true stage style, and once in a while catch a glimpse of 
the fairy scene of Indian wigwams in the midst of for- 
ests, with a tall Indian girl reading out of a gilt-edged 
book. I thought it was a farce, and we all felt our- 
selves completely sold, but I understood we were " very 
much wanting in taste," since Uncle Tom and Mrs. 
Smith (I don't know who she is), both great critics, voted 
it a charming performance. How they got over the ab- 
surdity of the appearance alone I can't imagine; — the 
idea of reading a handsome volume while in the charac- 
ter of an untutored Indian! If it had been recited the 
whole effect would have been different. As it was, per- 
haps I was too far off to appreciate the finer touches; at 



1855 and 1856. 61 

least I failed to do it, somehow. Alice and I were highly 
amused with a little boy behind us, as he steadily read 
the newspaper the whole time after Miss Darling's first 
efforts, and never gave her a second glance or thought, 
apparently; also, a baby of about six months, who ap- 
peared to appreciate it as highly; and we took our stand 
with them, so don't pretend to compete with Uncle Tom 
in criticism. 

A friend of ours, Alice Pearson, was at Millbourne 
a great deal. We all enjoyed having her, for she was 
excellent company, and Pattie was devotedly attached 
to her. 

This, by way of introduction to the Alice she so 
frequently speaks of. 

Millbourne, January 26th, 1856. 
Clem, the outrageous villain, actually was here an 
hour or more before insinuating in the slightest degree 
the fact of his having a letter for me, than which noth- 
ing is more aggravating, when T am " most dead in the 
pursuit of knowledge," and am aware I could have no 
more instructive way of passing time than perusing thy 
metaphysical disquisitions, but such was the fact. He 
calmly began his supper, and allowed me to get most 
through mine, when, like Tommy Garrigues, he " didn't 
know but what he had some letters with him," and pre- 
sented me with mine, which, of course, I regaled the 
family in general with then and there. Alice was here, 
too, and I thought particularly enjoyed those parts de- 
voted to physiology, of which study, thee knows, she is 
moderately fond. I have endeavored to warn her with 
regard to her gastrics, but she thinks I am a know-noth- 
ing about all such matters, and will depend upon noth- 
ing but books for the progress of her ideas, when thee 
knows an instructive companion should be as highly 



62 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

appreciated; — but I am rather of the opinion that the 
privileges she enjoys in this particular are not properly 
estimated by her, as I have frequently found her setting 
my knowledge and authority equally at defiance, and of 
late, since being at Harrisburg and shaking hands with 
the governor, she is actually intolerable in her conceit 
and self-importance. Down stairs this evening Clem 
and she have been playing chess, while I sat by watching 
the movements and wondering whether I should ever be 
able to find the least pleasure in thinking, as nothing 
proves to my mind my want of the reflective faculties 
as a game of this kind, or, indeed, of any nature whatso- 
ever. Thee remembers my geographical and historical 
exploits, when beguiled into severe study by the name 
of a mere game, and how very many times thee has been 
mortified by my utter ignorance upon riddles and such 
like when in Wilmington society. I'm sure I heartily 
rejoice that Saide is smarter at such things, or her life 
would become quite a torment in the Smyth family. 

Millbourne, February 14th, 1856. . 
If I write thee a valentine, darling, this beautiful 
morning, Fm sure it will have as warm a welcome as 
though it came from any of thy old admirers, and I 
know will be as full of reality as any of their professions ; 
but valentines are out of date, and I had quite forgot- 
ten it was the time till I dated my note, and " February 
14th " recalled many a pleasant conjecture and laugh- 
ing accusation, many a funny time writing and sending, 
contriving all manner of ways in which to mislead the 
recipient of our favors; and one very sad day to me when 
John left for the West, and I pitied him so much that I 
had no heart for the pleasant associations of valentines, 
but turned round to our desolate home and thought all 
my happiness was gone. How long it seems since then, 
and what an old young girl! I don't mean to get into 



1855 and 1856. 63 

so discursive a view as I sometimes do in writing to 
thee, but proceed in a straightforward way to the out- 
ward, rather than grope among the mysteries and dark- 
ness of the inner world. That I do too often, I know, 
but I am gradually learning that practical life is the true 
standard of thought and endeavor, and all the good 
resolutions and fancied advancements are as nothing in 
the scale with one true, "whole-hearted deed, however 
small it may" appear. " God judges for us best," and 
what to us may be the very greatest deprivation in our 
own eyes, become in reality a preparation for the future 
which nothing else could give, a strength and an invin- 
cibility to other attacks which is our greatest dependence 
and comfort. In this very instance, where John's mis- 
fortune led us to feel more than all else the mysterious 
ways of Providence, there came such things in disguise 
that now we can heartily rejoice that not our own wishes 
but his best good was consulted; and this ought to teach 
us confidence and love towards the kind Father of us all, 
as " knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers." I find 
myself many times brooding over the future loneliness 
at Millbourne, and wishing the past could return when 
my darling little Fin was forever at my side, and I had 
no fear of losing either one or other of my treasures. 
" Part of the sunshine of the scene with thee did disap- 
pear," and it seems now to have been but a preparation 
for another cloud on my horizon, which I cannot make 
into brightness before me, but which seems rather to 
spread out into the future like a burden too heavy to be 
borne, but then " the drooping vision never sees how the 
stars shine, nor any storm-bent bow," and I can only 
put up my prayer, like Whittier: 

" Through the doubt and mystery 
Grant to us Thy steps to see, 
And the grace to draw from thence 
Larger hope and confidence." 



64 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Yesterday morning I opened my desk to scribble to 
thee, but thought it was so lonely for Mother downstairs, 
I might just as well leave it till to-day, when she would 
be at meeting, and wouldn't miss me. She has been so 
good to me in reading aloud, and it has relieved so much 
the loneliness incident upon Saide's absence, that I can- 
not help wondering if I do enough in return for the 
thousand nameless acts of love which seem ever to be a 
sort of inspiration with her. Was there ever such a 
Mother in the wide world as she? — it seems to me no- 
body could be just as nice or good. As to Father, he 
gTows more perfect every day, and I don't know why 
we are not, some of us, the embodiments of goodness 
and purity, if all that physiological stuff is true that 
Alice and thee talk about so much; — transmitting the 
propensities of the parents in double measure upon the 
children. Alas, no such good fortune! as each one must 
work out his own salvation, and " rebels within us and 
foes without still snatch at our crown " while we are 
plodding through this daily life of duties and pleasures. 
So I, at least, will put physiology aside, and believe that 
neither fathers nor mothers are transmitted to their chil- 
dren in sufficiency of spirit to make it very visible in 
actual life. 

Melbourne, February 26th, 1856. 
As I talk of going up to Uncle Pennock's for a day 
or two it is quite necessary for me to remember young 
Fin before I go, else she will make such a fuss and batter 
me about so much on Seventh-day evening that I shall 
rather look forward to the encounter with dread than 
pleasure. One serious objection I have to writing to-day 
is that I have nothing to say; another that Mother has 
just been down and told thee all thee wants to know; 
and a third that thee never sent me a line by her, which 
I consider very reprehensible. Moreover, when I plainly 
stated my wants to thee in my last letters, and reminded 



1855 and 1856. 65 

thee of thy promise to give me a comb, that " elegant 
buffalo one " (which I now believe is an old f orlornity), 
though thee has had several direct opportunities, I am 
Btill left in that dismal situation which thee had laid be- 
fore thee in my last, actually suffering under the effects 
of broken and split teeth tearing my hair. Besides, I 
am going to a party on Seventh-day, and before that 
time, I very much fear, shall have no opportunity of bet- 
tering my condition, which, in addition to another trou- 
ble I have to relate, will make my situation at that time 
very unenviable indeed. Be it known, then, to thy sym- 
pathizing ear, that the other day I undertook a small 
wash of my own, consisting of my choice collars and un- 
dersleeTes, and with great care succeeded in cleansing 
them preparatory to the final boil, which I gave them 
about nightfall this day week. But who would expect 
a mind of my aspirations to continue in such a thought 
for any continued length of time? Therefore it was 
only natural I should become engaged in more congenial 
pursuits, and lose sight of the plebeian occupation in 
which I had been an unwilling actor. Then, too, the 
moonlight was beautiful on the meadow when I went up- 
stairs to bed, and I lingered over it with dreams in which 
certainly collars and undersleeves had no share. The 
morning light revealed to me how necessary it is for the 
loftiest mind to stoop at times, for alas, my whole posses- 
sions were become worthless cinders! I have plied 
Mother with questions of all kinds and sorts about you, 
and what thee said to her decision that I should not help 
thee move; and from her accounts I should suppose thee 
was prepared for all emergencies, and did not much care 
whether I came or not. At least, I may as well think 
so, as Mother is entirely decided upon that point, and it 
only remains to me to submit to fate gracefully and as 
cheerfully as I may. Saide is now rejoicing that her 
sewing is beginning to assume a more interesting charac- 



66 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ter. Done with personal clothing altogether, she in- 
tends plunging into the romantic preparations for house- 
keeping. She and Mother talk of going in town to- 
morrow to make purchases, and she would like very 
much that I should go too, but in consideration of my 
" right " breast being affected, and the nerves of my 
spine in an irritable condition, besides u bad humors on 
my brain," and other diseases too numerous to mention, 
it is voted by one and all that I had much better avoid 
any call upon mind or body in such an undertaking for 

the present. 

Millbourne, March 27th, 1856. 

Saide and I have been close prisoners to Millbourne 
almost ever since my visit to thee, at least since Third- 
day week I believe I have not ventured from the smoke 
of my own chimney, excepting on First-day a little while 
to Uncle Pennock's, of which visit thee no doubt has 
heard through Clem, who will picture my flirtation with 
E. T. on the top rail of a fence, very forcibly I know. I 
can't tell thee myself, because it takes too much eye- 
sight, and Fve no time either to spare from rest and 
sleepiness, but will just recommend to thee when thee 
goes out riding with young men, to be sure the horse 
has a large enough collar on, and the gentleman himself 
enough courage to know what to do with himself under 
difficulties. I could not even feign terror, but laughed 
all the time at the distress in which E. T. was plunged, 
and his piteous look and voice I shall never forget, all 
of which I can better enlarge upon at another time. But 
I will say sincerely he had my deepest sympathy for the 
mortifying circumstances in which he was placed, which 
were at the time too much for my risibles, but in point 
of fact were only too overwhelming to his proud nature 
not to excite my pity in spite of all my shocking behav- 
ior. If I am awake when Clem comes I trust to be 
greeted by something from thee, but shall not calculate 



1855 and 1856. 67 

too largely upon it, lest I be thrown out of my usual 
train of reflections, which must not be in the least ex- 
citing. I am taking medicine prepared in Brooklyn, 
and furnished in a romantic manner by a retired clergy- 
man to Saide, who has full faith that in two weeks I will 
be a model of health and strength, and no more nerves 
to speak of from that time. I shall certainly get to see 
thee if such is the magical effect. 

Millboume, September 10th, 1856. 

The only reason I take the large sheet for my dear 
little Fin is the lamentable fact that I have used up all 
my paper, as no doubt thy great pile of letters will show, 
and so have recourse to Father's, which would induce 
a degree of volubility most unbearable in a weekly epistle. 
Thee may thank fortune I confine myself to smaller 
sheets as a general thing, for thee knows my theory about 
writing is the same (with a difference) as that of eating 
all on one's plate. I never like to send a blank space, 
and thee knows well enough I live up to my principles in 
that, if nothing else. ... 

I asked Saide last night, when we leaned out of my 
room window overlooking the meadow, if she did not 
feel the deepest regret for ever having left Millbourne, 
for it looked perfect in the moonlight, and now just as 
much so in the cheerful light of day; but, dear me! mar- 
ried folks are so obdurate, and never feel anything as 
they should. Will thee believe it? she stoutly denied 
the charge, and in pitying accents wished I " had some- 
one to love and cherish " me, and " knew what it was 
to be a happy wife " ! But since I don't, and there is 
no immediate prospect of my enjoying that felicity, I 
maintain that Millbourne is the sweetest spot the sun 
shines upon, and, moreover, you are most insensible to 
its charms when you prefer a gay deceiver to its sterling 
and intrinsic merits. Why, Fin, thee don't for a moment 



68 THE STOBY OF A LIFE. 

suppose that Eli is worth a fig. I guess Fve been to 
Wilmington lately and seen the domestic relation be- 
tween you, and can say, as that old forlorn Blandois did 
when Mr. Flinwitch seemed animated by a desire of 
shaking poor Affery, " Here's husband and wife I see; 
always agreeable to see that relation playfully main- 
tained! " So nothing can be plainer than that Eli and 
thee are bound by the conjugal tie! To be a happy wife 
must indeed be the summit of earthly felicity, and, jest- 
ing apart, dear Fin, I do really think so, but the tempta- 
tion can come but in one way, and thee knows poor Mar- 
tha Nyate put it aside. It is impossible to imagine 
marrying for a home, and thee has many a time told me 
I would be too exacting as a wife to be a happy one; 
but that story touched me particularly, because it seems 
so possible to me to love without return, and live upon 
the certainty of none; but I begin to believe such things 
are overruled most wisely, and when our nature is idola- 
trous, our idols must be shattered. What a pity we 
cannot work out our salvation and happiness but through 
suffering; and it seems to me no deep feeling of faith 
or content is ever produced but through pain and weari- 
ness, day after day. Some natures, thee knows, have 
not so much to contend with; are strong, so that the 
chords vibrate unconsciously. Those cool, calm, self- 
sustaining characters are my admiration and my great 
desire, but it will be a good while, I fear, before I can in 
any degree imitate them. When I do, thee will com- 
plain of me and say I am not a bit nice, and wish I was 
as simple and weak and foolish as hitherto. Don't trou- 
ble thyself at the prospect, it will never be. I wish it 
could. . . . 

When I think of a little voice to call thee Mother, 
it seems so strange and unreal, it makes me feel that 
troubled, selfish feeling which would not allow thy sym- 
pathies and interests to extend, lest they become less 



1855 and 1856. 69 

earnest where they are; and yet I do not fear it at all, 
only it comes upon me doubtfully that the responsibility 
of another life is added to thy own. I feel a strange awe 
upon me, and can only ask that the blessing may out- 
weigh all care and anxiety which it brings with it, may 
give thee good impulses and happy thoughts and pleas- 
ant hours through life, and lend its sweetest influence 
to good forever! My own dear little sister, who has so 
just a sense of right, will not forget to implant it; will 
remember always the story of her own life, and teach 
day by day the lessons every child must learn, — and 
thee knows, darling, " by teaching, we are taught," and 
if thy own obedience to a Higher Authority is made 
easier, it will be a proof that the blessing lent thee is 
gratefully acknowledged. Obedience seems a little thing 
sometimes, yet when we know how hard it is to learn, 
does it not seem cruel kindness not to expect it from a 
child who must learn it through suffering afterwards in 
its more responsible years? I do not want to be of- 
ficious, dear, but only desire for thee that " thy children 
may rise up and call thee blessed " ! My eyes are tired 
of writing, though I want very much to talk still, but 
will put all aside now, and think this full sheet must 
have something in it, though it would be hard work to 
tell what it is. Thee will be satisfied, I suppose, because 
thee always is, and when I write I am so sure of a wel- 
come it makes me as careless as possible. Thee ought 
to be more fastidious, dear Fin, and then maybe I should 
get off something more interesting. I wish thee would 
send my knitting home the first opportunity. I shall 
be out of work if my eyes don't permit sewing, and I do 
want to get those curtains done so I may begin thy little 
sheets. Write soon, dear, and give two kisses to Eli 
from me. All send love, and I suppose this letter can 
carry it, but it already is weighted down with its own. 



CHAPTEE V. 

1857 and 1858. 

Millbourne, December 31st, 1857. 
Mother has sent me off in the most summary man- 
ner to write to you at Wilmington, and as I find it very 
inconvenient to be sitting staring round the room, with 
my pen in hand and paper before me without any ideas 
in the world to set down for your benefit, I conclude to 
enter a list of complaints against everybody who expects 
a trace of my pen. Now, I was deeply interested in 
making a hoop-skirt, and my mind on that level, my 
time, thoughts, and energies all bent upon the one great 
end. Is it surprising that when Mother insists upon a 
letter being written I should feel myself excused there- 
from, or that now nothing comes to relieve me from 
a very embarrassing situation, — shut up in a room with 
a letter to write, and not a word to say? All week I 
have been endeavoring to make up for the bad spending 
of the year by at least ending it well, in finishing off 
work long since begun, in mending old clothes; and now, 
not like old Jane, " content to be as God Almighty made 
me," indulging a weakness for decorating my person, 
and in making a new hoop-skirt, hoping to rival even my 
fashionable sisters at Wilmington. Truly, this is not 
the highest or most elevating thought I might have with 
which to end the old year, but, after all, life is made up 
of moments, and we invariably forget that it is better 
to learn to live wisely and well through the moments 
and hours and days which form the year, and the years 
that form the life, than to have the universal desire to 
end the life here below with composure and satisfaction. 
We all moralize a little, some more, some less, at the 
closing of the old year, or the beginning of the new, but 



1857 and 1858. 71 

John Bandolph had the true utterance of the heart when 
" Eemorse " was his last earnest feeling. We all write 
Eemorse at the end of the year, hut forget to inscribe Ee- 
pentance in the open pages of the new. Now, there is 
an old notion about the first of the New Year being an 
indication of our after pursuits, and I have a particular 
objection to looking forward to making hoop-skirts or 
mending old clothes as my chief occupation, and if that 
is my employment to-morrow it will be all your fault! 
Sis, too, has been most unmerciful, telling me every day 
I must write, because she wants to enclose a note, forget- 
ting that she could do all with that magic pen of hers. 
She has been out since the night before Christmas, at 
which time Alice and I went in to John's. I took Car- 
rie's sacque with me, and you never saw anybody go on 
as she did. She flew at me and kissed me fifty times or 
more, put it on, ran and showed it to John, talked all 
the time, and made infinite amusement for us and won- 
der to Lucy, who opened her large eyes wide enough to 
see her Mother so beside herself. Wasn't it cold and 
disagreeable Christmas day? Alice and I went down to 
Furness's church, but the gates were closed, and I don't 
suppose they thought any more of Christmas than Qua- 
kers do. We were dreadfully disappointed that such 
should be their faith, when we had set our hearts upon 
hearing Mr. Furness. However, it could not be helped, 
and Alice went down to Joshua's to dinner, and I up to 
William's. I have a horror of being in the way, and 
don't like to get into family parties, else I had promised 
Alice to go with her, and, beside, had a most especial 
invitation to Mr. Keen's; but, after all, took a quiet din- 
ner with Will and Mary, only Uncle Tom there, and he 
being exactly what he used to be when I formed my 
childish opinion of him, I see no reason to change it! 
First-day we went down to Cherry street, and had three 
long sermons from different female Friends; besides, an 



72 THE STORY OP A LIFE. 

old woman fainted and was carried out of meeting, caus- 
ing considerable excitement, and a good deal more life 
and animation in the audience than Rachel Rodgers had 
been able to effect. Since our return from town we have 
had such dismal weather we have not been out at all, ex- 
cept that night before last Nate and I went in to hear 
Chapin, and Alice has been away the rest of the time, so 
there has been nothing to call me from the smoke of our 
own chimney, which I am very glad to see rising lightly 
to-day, rather than falling with the murky atmosphere of 
the past week. Sis has been reading Cooper's " Water- 
Witch " to me, and last night we finished it at twelve 
o'clock. It is very exciting, and to me most fascinating, 
but both with Cooper and Scott there is too much de- 
scription to suit my taste, though it is heresy to breathe 
such an idea. I would like to read some parts over 
again, but Nate has deeply dipped into it, and it is now 
fast at the mill. Your letters came yesterday at noon, 
and we actually preferred you to Cooper for the time. It 
appears to me a strange thing that with all the writing 
to you I am able to accomplish you never think of writ- 
ing directly to me, so I suppose you consider me un- 
worthy of notice, and merely the clerk of the family; so 
good-bye. 

Sixth-day noon. 

Alice sent a letter to me at Wilmington which I did 
not get. It was directed to Eli, and I should like very 
much to have it forwarded, as it will be no particular 
benefit to you. I suppose it got there the day we came 
up. I must wish you all the happiness good for you 
this coming New Year. It has a beautiful beginning, 
and we hope it a happy augury for all sunshine without 
and sunshine within. As Mother has added her post- 
script about the lamp, I am compelled from suppressed 
feelings to express my ardent desire that they will never 
get up any new lamps. Mother is crazy about it, and 



1857 and 1858. 73 

because it burns one evening in the week without smok- 
ing we are compelled to endure the experiments still 
longer, and our darling lard lamp standing idly by. My 
idea is that all the money she saves in it will be doubly 
and trebly wasted in expenditures on some new cooking 
stove. Just the way with us all, — stinting one way to 
save in another. I wish Knapp had never got the idea 
in his head and Mother had never seen it. 

Tell Cousin Anna Ferris she missed a great deal in 
not hearing Curtis, the very best lecture of the season; 
but I have come to the sage conclusion that the people 
of Philadelphia are not literary in the smallest degree. 
His entrance was the quietest in the world, and nobody 
to attend him but Mr. Collins, the secretary, while 
Chapin and Beecher have crowded attendance, as well 
as the full house below. Then the best things Curtis 
said elicited but a shadow of the applause they deserved, 
and not a tithe of what Chapin had the other night. I 
don't like Chapin; his language and manners seem all for 
effect. I can't find the man beneath them, — whether he 
is good or bad, or merely a popular minister fed well 
with praise and puddings. He is fat enough and self- 
satisfied enough for either or both. 



In the fall of 1857 we were all anxious about our dear 
Mother, whose health was evidently failing. She suf- 
fered much from rheumatism, and, as we thought, heart- 
disease. The old Millbourne house was very near the 
mill-race, and was often damp, and we imagined that 
possibly this caused the trouble. 

A proposition was made by some one of the children 
that the tenant-house on the farm, which was much 
higher, and consequently not so damp, be so altered that 
it might be a suitable home that Mother could enjoy. 
All her life she had longed to build a house, and being 



74 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

naturally progressive and full of ideas as to comfort and 
convenience, we knew it would be a great delight to her. 

EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF M. S. 

January 31st, 1858. 

Went to meeting with Father. I left Fanny with 
Mother. When we came home found William and Mary 
with John and Carrie here. 

The whole collected body of children voted for an 
addition to the little cottage, that we might move away 
from the dampness of this house, in hopes of the change 
benefiting Mother. The brothers talked largely about 
it, and Father acquiesces, being willing to do anything 
to gratify Mother. I have to stifle many regrets and 
foolish superstitions, but there is nothing could please 
Mother more. 

February 5th. 

John and William brought an architect to look at the 
house and make plans. They have not yet settled upon 
any, but seem to be in good earnest about it, and Mother 
is so happy in it that it almost reconciles me to the 
change, but I cannot help the superstitious dread of — 
I know not what. 

February 12th. 

John and William brought the architect out, and we 
had quite an interesting time planning the house. Was 
much pleased with Mr. Gries, and liked the plans very 
much. 

February 24th. 

Mr. Gries and John came out with the various plans 
md specifications, which last are so numerous as to 
Zrighten us at the probable expense. 



1857 and 1858. 75 

(Letter dated) Millbourne, March 10th, 1858. 
I am sorry to dampen thy bright anticipations of a 
visit from me. I could not with satisfaction to myself 
leave home for any length of time, and I am rather forc- 
ing my consent to leave Mother from Sixth-day till First 
or Second; so, under the circumstances, could not en- 
tertain thy proposition for a moment. To show thee by 
one example how necessary it is for me to be on the spot: 
Second-day I went to town and left particular directions 
with Margaret to cook a squab for Mother at ten o' clock 
(which is quite important, as she never eats any break- 
fast), and I went away with a tolerably easy mind. When 
I came home, however, I found Margaret had entirely 
forgotten it, and poor Mother went without her lunch, as 
thee knows she never thinks it at all worth while to go 
to any trouble about herself. I was right tried, for, 
though I prefer cooking for her myself when I am at 
home, yet I knew Margaret could do it, and she so care- 
lessly forgot it, that I just thought, then what is to be 
done when I go to Wilmington? I don't think I ought 
to go, but Mother would feel dreadfully wounded if I 
didn't, and I am quite at a loss about it. Certainly I 
could not feel easy to be away longer than the time first 
proposed. I think Mother's rheumatism is not any 
worse (indeed, rather better at times), but she is so ex- 
tremely weak I don't know what to make of it, and feel 
anxious all the time. I do think change of air would be 
beneficial, and now that warmer days are coming, I hope 
she will get out more, and enjoy a visit to you. When 
you write to her asking her to come, I would suggest you 
say nothing of the importance of it for her, but make out 
a pretty strong case in your own favor, for she will do for 
you what she would not think of for herself, and noth- 
ing will take her away from the smoke of her own chim- 
ney but the pleasure and comfort she may be to others. 
Let us court health and strength for her without her 



76 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

knowledge, and invite her cooperation by various plans 
laid straight in her path of duty, as we know she won't 
think of turning aside if she is able to avoid it. Every- 
body knows, — (everybody that has ever been sick), — 
how tiresome it is to do things merely for exercise, or 
change of air, or because it is good for you; when, if pro- 
posed in some other way, they might be quite pleasurable 
and more beneficial. I know from my own experience 
the benefit of outdoor exercise, but am equally satisfied 
that I should never have profited by it without some 
more interesting incentive than the mere fact of good 
air. So I told Mother yesterday I thought she had 
best go for Alice and take her to school, which she 
thought would tire her to death in the mere thought of 
driving. Of course this proposition was in joke, but I 
do think if she could get out more she would be stronger, 
and I am so glad these bright days have come, that she 
may profit thereby. This afternoon Father and she are 
going to town to stay all night, which is quite a little 
trip for her. She has some shopping to do, and thought 
she would be fresher for it in the morning. I expect 
she will come up stairs directly to get her hair combed, 
and at the same time want to read my letter, which is 
always a trouble to me, because I want to talk to you 
sometimes upon subjects that are not suitable for her, — 
but I will just end this sheet and write another without 
much reference to her, so she shall not be deprived of 
any little pleasure she may find in reading my letters. 
She certainly lacks entertainment when they will fur- 
nish her any. 

Father hopes he will get to see Helen soon, and if 
Herbert is such a splendid boy as thee describes him, I 
expect he will share with her, Father's manifold atten- 
tions ; only little girls are his admiration. For my part, 
I like boys the best, and I hope thee will profit by this 
remark. 



1857 and 1858. 77 

Tell Eli I have been driving Perry lately with great 
satisfaction, and Kelly agrees with me, that there is no 
handsomer horse on the place. My opinion is that Kelly 
thinks " beauty when unadorned is adorned the most/' 
for he has certainly never by any effort of his own in- 
creased the beauty which Perry may possess. I have 
not been inclined to race much on the roads lately, or to 
let Perry out at his full speed, so cannot give much in- 
formation of baffled jockeys, or state the amount of 
money risked on such occasions; but if I make a trial 
this coming week, you shall certainly be informed of its 
successful issue. 

EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL. 

March 11th, 1858. 

Father and Mother went to meeting this morning. 
It has been a long while since Mother felt able to go, 
and it always tires her very much. Oh, how I wish we 
could tell what is best to do for her! She seems to need 
continued attention, and perhaps a good nurse is of more 
importance to her than a doctor. I feel a weight of re- 
sponsibility upon me, and fear I do not do all I might. 

March 16th. 
This beautiful spring does not bring its usual fresh- 
ness to me. I see before me nothing but darkness and 
the shadow of death. Why do they all talk so cheer- 
fully of the new house, etc? What will it be to us with- 
out the happy Presence? Perhaps I feel needless anx- 
iety, but I cannot help it. She is so weak, and she is 

my all. 

March 17th. 

I walked as usual with Alice. Such a beautiful day, 
and enjoyed it very much, only continually comes 
Mother's pale face between me and every pleasure. I 



78 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

am haunted by a nameless dread. I cry in my heart, 
" Oh, God, let this cup pass from me !" How can I 
learn " submission in His hand to lie, and feel that it is 
best" ? 

March 18th. 
I have felt a heavy weight upon me all day, — a hor- 
rible dread which absorbs every other thought. Dear 
Mother, what could I do without thee, and how can I do 
for thee as I should? I cannot talk or think without my 
feelings overcoming me. Dear Alice, so anxious to 
comfort me, begging me to tell her what made my face 
so inexpressibly sad. I could not reply, but wrote three 
words, not trusting myself to speak. 

March 26th. 
... Dr. Thomson and Rebecca came. Consulted 
doctor about Mother, who gains no strength; her pulse 
150. She weighs upon my mind continually. 

March 31st. 
. . . Then, after I was through my work, I took 
Mother up to the other house, went through it, and 
imagined the alterations, etc. She was tired with the 
exertion, but not as exhausted as I expected. 

April 8th. 
They began to tear down the old kitchen at the other 
house, and have a good deal dug out of the cellar. Still 
it does not seem clear or bright to me. Oh, if Mother 
could only get well! That is the height of my wishes 
now. 

LETTERS. 

Millbourne, April 14th, 1858. 
Thy letter, dear Fin, is just put into my pocket, to be 
read again when I feel in need of refreshment. I sup- 
pose it came just at the right time, as I felt so comfort- 
able in its perusal. I don't see why I should particu- 



1857 and 1858. 79 

larly, for it is no more brilliant effusion than usual, but 
I like to see my own name on the outside, and " Dear 
Pattie " at the beginning, with " Thy Sister Fin " at 
the end. 

At present I feel more like a Martha than a Pattie, 
partaking of the feeling so accurately described in the 
Scripture Martha, of being " troubled about many 
things. 77 I always had a near sympathy with her, and 
should like to know what would have become of the 
house if it had been left to the care of Mary, who ran 
the roads all the time. It always seemed to me very un- 
kind and inconsiderate in her to leave everything for 
poor Martha, and no wonder she " felt troubled about 
many things. 77 My sister Fanny may be likened to the 
petted, wilful, thoughtless Mary, who did as she pleased 
and left home without caring how much she laid upon 
poor Martha 7 s shoulders. I feel like an injured creature, 
and, though assuming the garb of patient submission 
for some years, am at last roused up to open rebellion 
against the decrees of fate. It is really no use for me to 
depend upon human love and sympathy or anythiag 
lower than we are all called to, — if I place my faith 
upon brother or sister to insure my present and future 
happiness, they immediately snap their fingers in my 
face, and tell me they love somebody else a great deal 
better, and as I am no longer a necessity of their nature, 
it is foolish to rest my affections upon anything so 
evanescent. Then I turn into the inviting paths of 
friendship, and, rinding sweet consolation, begin to place 
the highest hopes upon its continuance; when almost as 
surely the fabric shows the tottering of personal support, 
and I see before me the ruins which I dread. Then I 
return, as we all do many times, to think upon what 
I am in reality living upon, and find it nothing but a 
mass of hopes and wishes, that slide from me as I think 
them secure. 



80 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

Now, thee may think me in a very sentimental mood, 
but I'm not at all, and nothing but the most matter-of- 
fact realities bring me into this strain. To continue, I 
may tell thee I have got into domestic life most thor- 
oughly and literally, for as Mother will tell thee in her 
letter to Saide, there has been a gradual turn-out from 
our kitchen. Margaret at last got married, and ready 
to start to St. Paul, when Catharine, struck with dis- 
may at the separation, concluded she must go too, and 
we were left in rather a forlorn way. Mother felt it 
particularly, as she, being utterly unable to do anything, 
concluded the house would go down, of course. I made 
various expeditions after girls, paid a visit to Mrs. Flynn, 
in Haddington, whose "daughters have such applause for 
their work, a character always follows them to the door." 
She gave me a glowing account of the one she wanted us 
to try, and we concluded to think of it. In the mean- 
time our new cook came and recommended one of her 
acquaintance, whom I immediately went to see. 

Millbourne, April 18th, 1858. 
Seventh-day Cousin Sophy Sellers and Anna called 
a little while, and the former was very entertaining, with 
anecdotes of the Eevolutionary War and of General 
Washington. Among others, she said when the British 
destroyed all the paper in the colonies there was great 
distress for the need of it, and as no paper moulds were 
ever made here, and there were no means of getting 
them from England, they were quite in despair. Uncle 
Nathan (that's Grandfather's brother, thee knows) was 
something of a mechanical genius, and he said he 
thought he could make paper moulds; which remark got 
to Washington, who immediately sent for him, and, af- 
ter questioning him about it, sent him with a guard of 
soldiers to Little York, where he was constantly de- 
fended by them until he made the moulds, which an- 



1857 and 1858. 81 

swered most admirably the purpose intended. Now, if 
Washington's letter to him could only be found, it would 
be quite a precious heirloom in the family, would it not? 
Other things of interest she spoke of, too, all occasioned 
by a letter from Sam Sellers, to know when Uncle 
Nathan and David first commenced the wire business, 
as they were the original drawers of wire in this coun- 
try, and Sam and Charlie in direct descent from them; 
so they wanted the date of their commencement on the 
business cards they are about to issue. Nobody is able 
to give the desired information. Cousin Nancy, the 
" oldest inhabitant," cannot remember, and Father has 
no conception of dates, as thee may know when he at- 
tempts to state my age as eighteen. 

Last First-day we had quite a little company. George 
was down, and John and Carrie came out to dinner; then 
William brought Sister Mary out in the afternoon, and 
they all talked about the new house to thy full satisfac- 
tion. An estimate being made and considered, Father 
told the boys to go ahead; so I suppose when it is suit- 
able weather (they think probably the middle of April) 
it will be commenced. Mother looks forward to it with 
much pleasure, and I trust she may long enjoy it. Father 
talks a good deal about it, and manifests much interest 
in its speedy conclusion; has divided the farm mentally, 
and hopes to rent this for a milk dairy. . . . 

The new abode is to be ready by the 1st of Septem- 
ber without fail, but I look for our removal in October 
or November. It isn't the fashion to keep engagements. 
I hope it will be pleasant weather for us, I am sure; but 
there is no calculating about that. Who would have 
thought of a snow such as we had last Second-day? . . . 

I went to Sister Mary's; then, after dinner, Nate 
came, and we went through that blinding snow-storm up 
to the doctor's. He gave me medicine for Mother's 
heart, which has troubled her a good deal lately, but 



82 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

none for the rheumatism, which he said it was almost 
impossible to throw off in this kind of weather. Either 
the palpitation or the pain from the rheumatism makes 
her very weak; and as she prefers living on air to becom- 
ing like common mortals, and devouring bread and but- 
ter, there is no immediate prospect of her strength in- 
creasing. She needs something to stimulate her appetite, 
and I have plied her with wines and lager beer, etc., but 
she is so afraid of getting intoxicated that she can't en- 
joy them, and thinks, too, they don't agree with her, 
she having had several giddy spells lately; so do propose 
some ambrosial food or distilled nectar for her delicate 
appetite; nothing of a grosser character will suit her. 



FROM THE JOURNAL. 

April 15th, 1858. 
. . . Mother wanted to see the doctor, and I only 
hope he may benefit her. She is very weak, and I feel 
a constant dread and weight upon my mind, but I trust 
it may remain with me if there is any real danger, for 
I desire to see what is before me and prepare my mind 
for it, that I may know how to comfort others rather 
than be absorbed in a selfish sorrow. May the day be 
far distant that I dread, but I pray God to help me pre- 
pare for it. 

April 25th. 

. . . This afternoon John and Carrie, with Lucy, 
were out; all walked up to the spring, and to see the 
foundation stones at the new house. Nate said it 
seemed like looking into a grave, and so it felt to me. 

April 29th. 

. . . Father signed the contract for Mayflower, so 
now she is mine, and I am very glad of it. 



1857 and 1858. 83 

June 14th. 
... I came directly home; found Mr. Gries here, 
who stayed to tea and spent the evening. He was very 
entertaining, but shocked me with the mention of an- 
other volume of Nineveh, which I thought forever dis- 
posed of. What will I ever do with it? 

June 20th. 

. . . Nate went in for Frederick Eichards; got out to 

breakfast by 7 o'clock. He took photographs of the 

house and mill, also of us in a group on the piazza; all 

very good. 

August 26th. 

. . . We all walked up to the house this morning. 
I have not seen it for more than a week, but do not ob- 
serve much change. The plasterers are at work, and it 
is the nastiest, dirtiest place imaginable. 

September 20th. 
. . . This afternoon Brother William brought Mr. 
William Furness out to commence Mother's portrait. I 
was very much pleased with him; fine-looking, and very 
pleasant. I do hope it will be v a good likeness, I am 
sure; but shall envy William if it is. 

September 24th. 

. . . Sis and I went to look for shawls; none pretty 

that suited my purse. Wished I was like the lilies of 

the field, or could be comfortable, like Eve, before she 

ate that horrid apple. 

October 18th. 

Well, I have had a most trying day to body and 
spirit, choosing carpets. I never felt more undecided, 
and too much responsibility left with me. Came away 
sick of carpets and everything else. 

October 20th. 
Mother always sets things right. When I told her 
how worried I was about the carpets, she said, " Why, 



84 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

I am entirely satisfied, and have no doubt I would have 
done the same if I had been there; thee may make thy- 
self comfortable about it." She always knows just what 
to say, and how to make me feel good in little or big 
troubles. She is the dearest, darlingest Mother, and I 
know I don't deserve her. 

The terrible foreboding with regard to Mother lay 
like a weight upon Pattie's mind, and shadowed all the 
preparations for the new home. 

A week. or so before moving I walked with her up 
to the new house. As we stood in the hall I called her 
attention to the handsome stairway. She looked a mo- 
ment, and then turned away, saying, " I never look at 
that stairway without seeing a coffin carried down." 
" Pattie !" I said, " why is thee so fearful, and so 
superstitious?" "Well," she said, "I do not look for 
it, but it is there all the same." 

There was no use arguing the question. All her life 
she had seen or known things unseen or unknown to 
anyone else, and not by any process of reasoning did 
she arrive at her knowledge, but by some inner con- 
sciousness, entirely outside of her volition. We used to 
tell her it was the gift of second sight, but she would 
laugh about it and say, " If it ever told me anything 
worth knowing, I would believe in it; but they are such 
ridiculous commonplace things that I make no account 
of them." 

Of course, under the circumstances, it was natural 
that she should imagine that she saw the realization of 
her fears, but so many times she had been correct in her 
inner sight that we laid more emphasis on this evidence 
of subjective vision. 

A few weeks afterwards the picture she saw became 
a sad reality. 



1857 and 1858. 85 

from her journal. 

v November 9th, 1858. 

Nobody could recognize Millbourne now, so utterly 
cheerless does it seem all through the house. It is really 
dreadful to think of moving, and Mother is getting her- 
self sick as fast as possible by working twice as much 
as she ought; so I know all my fears will be realized. I 
think I must have a peculiar fear and repugnance to 
change, and yet it is all natural, and the simple chang- 
ing of a house can make no difference. 

November 14th. 
I slept for the last time in the turret. Oh, dear! 

November 15th. 

Of all days for moving we could not have fixed upon 
one more entirely disagreeable and unpleasant. Snow- 
ing and raining. 

I was the last to leave the old house; it looked 
dreadful, but for all I hated to leave it. Such a happy 
home as it has been! I know I can never have so much 
happiness again. 

(Letter dated) Millbourne, November 28th, 1858. 

Mother has just ordered me to write a letter 
to thee, and I don't feel the least bit like it, and 
think it very hard my ideas are expected to flow at all 
times for the benefit or convenience of the family. 

. . . Mother came home on Sixth-day against the 
Doctor's opinion; but there is no medicine for home- 
sickness but home, so she is here, now better, but far 
from well, weak and nervous and needing constant 
watching and attention, which she gets from every- 
body. Father never loses sight of her for a moment; 
follows her about as if somebody were going to snatch 
her off. Commend me to Father as the prince of hus- 
bands and the pattern of fathers! Mother can enjoy 



86 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

home now much more than before she was in town, for 
all the week nntil the day of her arrival Sary and I 
worked till night-fall, and went to bed as tired as pos- 
sible. That day, however, we dressed ourselves up in 
our best and sat in the parlor at work to give it as home- 
like a look as possible; and since then have rested upon 
the fruit of our labors. The sofas arrived yesterday, 
and are delightful. They make the parlors look so com- 
fortable, and things generally more attractive than when 
thee was here. The next visit I hope may give thee 
more entire satisfaction, and thee can go home at rest 
with regard to us and thyself too. Our family group 
just now is scattered, — Herbert, still in the arms of 
Morpheus, lying in the crib in the west chamber, 
(where Sary has removed), Clem rocking backward and 
forward in the parlor, Nate stretched at full length on 
the sofa; while from time to time they have regaled us 
with Methodist hymns. Mother is reading at the 
center-table in the library, where I am writing to thee, 
and Alice at the other side is telling me fifty dozen 
things to say to thee. 

FROM HER JOURNAL. 

December 1st, 1858. 
. . . Mother did not get up to-day at all except to 
have her bed made, and I am very uneasy about her. 
Have been kept hard at work down stairs. Hardly time 
to peep at her. Sary sat with her most of the day. 

December 15th. 
. . . Oh, it has all come to me to-night! I see the 
end of it all; and dear Mother is so patient and hopeful 
of getting well. She wants to live, I am sure, but God 
opened my eyes to-day to her true state, and mercifully 
preserved me from the influence of hopes so strong in 
all the rest, and so beguiling to the dear patient. 



CHAPTER VI. 
1859. 

Aftek this there were irregular entries in her jour- 
nal, sometimes not even a date. In January, 1859, she 
writes: 

It is the beginning of another year. Now I turn 
back to these blank pages and wish I could have nothing 
to record, but alas! the terrible affliction, most dreaded, 
has indeed come upon our home and left it desolate! 
Nothing! Nothing! is my continued feeling, and in look- 
ing over the past few weeks it seems to me that we 
have entertained an angel unawares. 0, Mother, 
Mother, if thee could only be with us, and if thy mind 
could have allowed thy body sufficient rest, — if thee 
could only have gone away while we moved, maybe we 
could have enjoyed our new home together. 

She did not want to die; I know she did not, though 
she was so calm and resigned; but' she lived with us and 
for us, and did her duty day by day. She ought to dwell 
with us still, I am sure of it. 0, merciful Father, be- 
stow upon me a portion of her resignation! 

She grew worse daily, and began at last to see it 
herself, praying continually in half audible tones, talk- 
ing to herself while sleeping; but on waking her mind 
was clear and bright as usual. Alice came home to help 
nurse her to-day, and Mother kept saying, with her char- 
acteristic consideration, " It is such a pity for her not 
to finish her visit." Fanny came up to-day, and found 
Mother so poorly she concluded to stay. There seemed 
indeed no time from this day when her children could 
leave her. She was so glad to have them, and yet so 
afraid of tiring them. We soon found it necessary to 
sit up with her; such terrible nervous distress I never 
witnessed. 



88 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

I cannot imagine any one more patient and cheerful 
and considerate than she was to the last, so afraid of 
taxing us, so anxious to save us, so uncomplaining and 
so calm. Every night one of her sons sat with her, 
besides a daughter, and it was such a blessing they were 
all able to be here. She did not like me to take my 
turn in sitting up, as I was called upon so continually 
night and day. She depended upon me so much; and 
the remembrance of her confidence and affectionate re- 
liance upon my judgment is most touching to me. She 
would often say, " What could I do without thee, my 
main dependence?" and if there was any doubt about 
her taking medicine, she always turned to me and said, 
" I will do whatever thee says." When her nervous 
spells came on she always wanted me, and I had more 
power to soothe her; but I learned to dread these spells 
as much as she did, feeling my strength to resist and 
conquer them growing less. She said, " I am like a 
baby, and I cry for my mother." Oh, now, my darling 
Mother, it is all reversed; it is I that sit alone, and long 
for that which is gone; crying in vain for my own dear 
Mother. 

Dr. Eodman came to consult with Dr. Thompson. 
They say she has a tumor, and has probably had it for 
years. She asked what they said, and insisted upon no 
concealment, so we told her, and her sweet resignation 
was beautiful and touching. She spoke such blessed 
words of comfort to us. She prayed that we might be 
a united band always; she over and over again charged 
us to be faithful and devoted to Father, and said he 
would feel so lonely. 0, Mother! I know thee would 
have been happy to stay, and every day this awful dis- 
pensation grows more incomprehensible. No good seems 
possible to come from so dire a calamity. When the 
mother is taken away from the family it seems utterly 
broken up, and such a mother, — so happy and proud 



1859. 89 

of her children, — oh, there is no love beside. While 
she was sick I said this over and over again, for never 
had I till then imagined the depth and fullness of her 
feelings for us all. She looked so fondly into my face; 
she called me " darling " always; she seemed never to 
tire in her manifestations of love; and as her nature was 
so reserved and these evidences of affection rare, they 
came all the more touchingly at the last moments. She 
spoke calmly and sweetly of her own prospects; said, 
" My path is clear and bright before me," and prayed 
to God to make her pure in His sight. Her death was 
like her life; whatever she had to do was done just as 
it should be. While she lived her duties were followed 
like the rounds of a ladder, and she never faltered nor 
looked back; and when the last step was to be taken 
she still kept her vision unclouded, her mind clear, and 
her heart free from fear, and placed her feet upon the 
other shore as firmly and as humbly as though she trod 
the earth. No shadow came between; no, not even the 
sorrowing, heart-stricken band she left behind. 

Our dear Mother died January 3d, 1859, in her 67th 
year, her eight children with her at the end. Following 
what we knew would please her, we allowed no 
stranger's hand to touch her, and it was her children 
who performed all the last offices for the dead, and pre- 
pared her for her burial. 

The day of her funeral her four tall sons bore the 
coffin down that stairway, where Pattie had seen it 
borne weeks before, and 'twas they who lowered her 
body to the grave. No stranger's hand touched even 
the casket holding the remains of our blessed Mother. 

LETTEES TO F. S. G. 

Millbourne, January 20th, 1859. 

... I have been alone all day. Father went to 
meeting this morning, and to meet the school directors 



90 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

this afternoon. Thee may think it strange, but it was 
very pleasant to be alone, and somehow I felt Mother 
so near to me, nearer than she has been at all; but my 
spirit kept suggesting how it would have been if she 
could have recovered, and how she would have enjoyed 
the quiet afternoon with me alone. It would give her 
so much satisfaction to see Father's pleasure in his new 
house. He seems as if he could not tire showing people 
its various conveniences, and it is an every-day affair 
to have comparative strangers shown over it by him. 
Last evening, too, Liddon and Lydia Pennock were 
here, and Father soon proposed showing it to them, and 
would go all over it, showing closets and everything. 
Well, it is a great pleasure to him, and all the time I 
cannot help wishing Mother could look after him and 
shrug up her shoulders; so pleased as she would be to 
see his appreciation of the various conveniences. Oh. 
what is the use of it all without her? If I could only 
divest myself of the harrowing thought that maybe her 
exertion in coming was the cause of her death; it haunts 
me continually, and becomes agonizing when I dwell 
upon it. To-day, for the first time since we came to the 
house, I have been alone, and Mother's dear face came 
to make it brighter, and her sympathizing looks dwelt 
with me all the day. " It is good to be alone " ; one 
knows better where and how he stands; and it seems to 
me I have lived in a sort of excitement for so long that 
I have lost all individuality or knowledge of myself. 

Millbourne, February 1st, 1859. 

... It seems too strange to be true that all the 
time I have lived through lately has been only a month, 
and when I dated my letter I tried to realize it only four 
weeks since Mother left us. Does it not seem years, in- 
stead of weeks? Time drags along so heavily; and yet 
I ought not to complain; her sweet, cheerful spirit has 



1859. 91 

never left the house, and we never wholly lose the in- 
spiration of her blessed presence. She never gave up 
under any trials which assailed her. She never looked 
back, or too far forward. Her eyes were kept stead- 
fastly upon the present, and its duties fully occupied her, 
leaving no room for vain longings or unavailing regret; 
and my continued desire is to come into this plain path 
which we know was the source of contentment to her 
in this life, and an assurance of peace in the next. It 
is so natural to think of what she would like even in 
the most trivial matters, and of late I have seemed to 
hear her dear voice saying, in the old fashion: " Pattie, 
dear, don't thee think thee ought to write to the girls? " 
and I replied, just as I often have done before, " Why, 
Mother, thee's always in such a hurry to have the girls 
written to; I don't see a bit of use in replying immedi- 
ately, they never do! But now all her words seem 
fraught with double meaning, and I can not resist the 
sweet earnestness of her tones. Thee knows how I used 
to cry if you didn't call me " Pattie dear love, a duck 
and a dee "; and I have often thought how invariably 
Mother said " Pattie dear." If thee will recall it, she 
rarely said merely Pattie, but always the " Pattie dear"; 
and through her sickness she invariably called me darl- 
ing. Oh, she could not have been more tender than 
she was to us all! and somehow it now appears to me 
we all took it very coolly. Now I would snatch her up 
and hold her in my arms, and defy anything to take 
her from me, but then, alas, we Icnew that she was going 
from us, and we stood around, waiting calmly for the 
end, so inevitable. Seeing it all, we were as though we 
saw it not, and feelings with me, at least, grew into 
stony calmness. Even yet I question of what manner 
of spirit I am, to know that I shall never, never, never 
again see her with my mortal eyes, and yet attend to 
everyday pursuits just the same, talk and laugh as 



92 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

though she sat beside me, try to fix the house just as 
though she might see it, and have all things comfort- 
able for Father, so that Mother would shrug up her 
shoulders and say: " Now, how many conveniences 
Father has, and what pleasure he takes in the house." 
It seems strange even to myself to find how little things 
strike me as important to be done, that she might find 
them so when she comes home. " We think she has but 
newly left us, and soon will come again." It is the con- 
tinued feeling with me, and only at times is the terrible 
desolation forced upon me; then it is all utter darkness 
and despair, and I feel as if I were indeed without a 
friend in the world. 

Millbourne, February 2d, 1859. 

It is such a comfort for me to feel that Nathan is 
what he is. It is better, I believe, to be too slow than 
too fast, and to count the cost of everything, as such 
people do, before they plunge themselves and others into 
difficulties. 

" John Sellers & Son " seem to get along very ami- 
cably so far. Nate gets up early and goes to the mill 
before breakfast, and talks about business more freely 
than he used to. He tries to hunt up business, too, 
which is a good sign, but is kept pretty busy with his 
books, in addition to his other labors at the mill, and 
has no time even to go see S. J. Oh, yes! last week he 
did call there a little while one afternoon, and is very 
anxious that Alice should not go in town with Father, 
as he can " take her in, in the evening, just as well as 
not!" 

I was interrupted by Saide's arrival, so the matter 
was at length decided to whom this letter should be 
directed, for I have been in doubt all along whose turn 
it was, and thought as thee had not once written since 
thee returned home, it did not signify whether thee 
heard from me or not. But, Fin, we both know Mother 



- 1859. 93 

would not like our correspondence or intercourse to flag, 
and we ourselves have the most earnest desire that it 
should not, so we must not grow careless, or put off 
from day to day, what she would have promptly per- 
formed. It is so easy for habit to grow into a second 
nature, and thee knows how hard it would be to have 
any procrastinating spirit come between us to separate 
our interests gradually, but none the less surely. "We 
will do as Mother would like, as nearly as we can, in 
every little thing, and maybe we can eventually feel her 
presence even more entirely than we now can. Alas! 
alas! the gates of heaven closed upon her, and left not 
a ray of light or hope to me. I am without consolation 
in the future, feeling how immeasurable is the distance 
between her spiritual state and mine. I pray to her 
just as my earthly Mother, and can think of nothing 
higher to appeal to. My faith never carries me to the 
merciful Father; everything is shadowy and unreal but 
Mother. She led me in life; she taught me in death! 
and now she lingers with me trying to elevate my 
thoughts, but they are of the earth earthy, and all my 
hopes, wishes and aspirations are centered in her bodily 
presence, and that I never more can enjoy. How I long 
for perfect resignation! I have submitted calmly to the 
inevitable, but nothing but rebellion fills my heart. 

Good-bye, dear, and God give thee a more Christian 
and patient spirit than I have been able to attain. 

Millbourne, July 17th, 1859. 
Thy letter yesterday filled me with regret that there 
had been any shadow thrown upon thy pleasure in going 
to Cape May. No one of Mother's children, I am sure, 
treasures her memory more than thyself, and thee must 
not think Sister Mary doubted it; she did not, I can as- 
sure thee. She spoke to me of her surprise and regret 
that thee thought of going to Cape May, and wondered 



94 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

I had not discouraged thee when thee mentioned it to 
me; but it never occurred to me that I could judge for 
thee, or indeed feel anything but satisfaction at thy 
ability to turn from what is the shadow upon all the 
earth to each one of us. It is natural and right for thee 
to do so; arid there is not the least danger of any cen- 
sure to thee, or shadow upon the blessed memory that is 
left us, in thy going to the shore quietly, as I am sure 
thee will. Do not feel hardly toward Sis for her well- 
meant caution; it was given in love, and thee must re- 
ceive it so. The very highest honor we can give to 
Mother, the most perfect proof we can show of our un- 
tiring and undying affection for her, is to live in unity, 
and observe her living and dying wishes upon that sub- 
ject above all others. So, with this idea, dear Fin, just 
write a little note of reply to Sis, and tell her thee was 
glad she did not keep her thoughts to herself. It is 
so much better to be open, so that the world shall have 
no cause to see in thee anything but the calm resigna- 
tion of a daughter's undying affection, and the blessed 
assurance (which I am sure thee continually feels) of 
her happiness in the world of spirits. If she could look 
down upon us all at this moment, she would not think 
our tastes interfered in any way with the true affection 
of our hearts, and she would be the last to restrain our 
pleasures in any way. Be sure if I had felt any real 
objection to thy going, I should have mentioned it at 
the time. I felt that I had nothing to do with it, know- 
ing thy heart so well, and being willing to trust Mother's 
memory to thy keeping as well at the shore as in the 
quietest spot on earth. I think Sis was afraid that thy 
restless longing to forget thy irreparable loss would 
make thee lose sight of the slight it might appear to 
give to the blessed memory we cherish. 

Your natures are not alike, and you cannot judge 
one for another. Do not try to do it, dear Fin; leave 



1859. 95 

it all. Follow thy own instincts, but be willing to listen 
if any one feels interest enough to give advice. Some- 
times I so long to have some one who will tell me 
plainly, as Mother used to do, and trust me entirely, as 
she always did, for the good which would arise from it. 
Nobody, nobody, can ever love me so now. I think so 
often of Mother, as she lay on her sick-bed, lifting up 
her weak hands, saying, " Nothing! Nothing! " and it 
is just as I feel continually. I have come to that state 
of nothingness within and without, and in the utmost 
poverty of spirit lift up weak hands of faith, repeating 
over and over again, " Nothing! Nothing! " And so I 
feel when thee leans upon me for counsel. Do not put 
thy faith or thy actions in another's keeping. None 
are able to bear such responsibility. No one is fit to be 
trusted; each one of us must leave all " to look above 
and judge within." 

It is almost dark. I cannot see to write, and hardly 
know whether I have expressed myself clearly upon the 
subject, but be sure, in future, that all objections that 
I have to any of thy actions I will tell thee thyself, and 
it is the best proof that I had none in this instance when 
I said nothing. 

I shall look for Helen Fourth-day, so do not disap- 
point me. Dear little thing, she must love me. 

Millbourne, August 12th, 1859. 

... I have got down into a very low spot indeed 
on account of the failure of my eyes, and within a few 
days I have been entirely unable to use them. To darn 
the stockings I was obliged, and had a great time to get 
through, and felt in a desperate way, I can assure thee. 
I wondered how I would ever get along (with the con- 
tinual demand upon my eyes), if they gave out, and 
altogether worried myself sick, which was great folly. 
What is the use in taking trouble on interest? Surely, 



96 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

" sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof/' without 
imagining every day will be like it. 

Yesterday morning I spent in the graveyard at 
Darby, trying to make it look more attractive; and this 
morning was there again. The ground was baked so 
hard nothing would grow in it, and I had a great work 
to get it into order. I hope now it will not stare at 
me with the fresh earth to tell me continually it is 
such a little while since we laid Mother to rest there. 
Sometimes it seems a lifetime since last winter, but of- 
tener as if it were but yesterday; and as thee says, those 
four weeks of sickness continually haunting me. Every 
night before I close my eyes I seem to see the whole over 
again, and to go over the feeling each day we lived 
through then. I wonder if Time will ever bring heal- 
ing on its wings; certainly to me it has brought only 
more vividly my own shortcomings, and nothing of com- 
fort; but the pain, the actual intense and acute suffering 
I often feel now, is far preferable to the deadened sense 
and benumbed feelings which oppressed me then. I be- 
lieve it is best not to let the mind dwell upon our loss. 
Whether it is spiritually beneficial I know not; but 
lately I have determined, as much as in me lies, to for- 
get it all. After the first agony of all that was before 
me in the beginning of Mother's sickness, the hopeless 
certainty and the sickening sense of desolation which 
came to me that First-day, I tried to see trivial things, 
and noticed each little passing event as though it were 
of moment, shutting out from my thoughts only the 
present; and I am certain it was of great use to me 
and benefit to Mother. If I had given way to thought, 
if I had stopped for one moment to recognize the 
shadow, all my strength would have gone, and my sel- 
fish sorrow and wild abandonment of spirit would have 
unfitted me completely in Mother's hour of need. Oh, 
I am so thankful that I did not think or feel or know 



1859. 97 

anything, except just to do what I had to do, and leave 
the rest! That is the state I am trying to recall; though 
it brought no pleasure, yet it gave strength, and that is 
what we all need. The most certain proof of immor- 
tality I have ever had is the sustaining and upholding 
of us all in this great sorrow. We know Mother has 
not forgotten us. We cannot help believing that her 
spirit gives strength to ours, and when I doubt every- 
thing, this thought brings me back to trust again. I 
have often thought of what Cousin Jane Price said to 
me, when I was sick at your house: "My dear, thee 
thinks too much; think nothing! " And it is only, dear 
Fin, when I " think nothing " that I ever find comfort. 
We measure with our finite comprehension what is given 
only through the Spirit, and we speculate and wonder 
and endeavor to comprehend with our minds, what never 
enters therein. So now, dear, I return the advice to 
thee: "Think nothing." Comfort will come when 
every thought is stilled, when self is utterly forgotten, 
and when we stand uncovered before G-od. It is only 
at moments that I have been able to feel it; but to do 
what I have to do, and think of nothing else, as in 
Mother's sickness, is all that seems to be clear to me 
now. To do it heartily, too, as unto God, and not unto 
man. When will I attain it? 



CHAPTER VII. 

1860 to 1863. 

Millbourne, January 19th, 1860. 
Our reading was " Adam Bede " last week, which, is 
excellent, I think, — something fresh and original about 
it. What does thee think of Adam's love for Dinah? 
It would be pleasant to have it suggested to your lover, 
— the necessity of his affections turning towards you, — 
wouldn't it; but " love is love forevermore." There was 
to the last all the tenderness for Hetty, who was a fool- 
ish little thing, but I don't wonder she was made such a 
pet of. I'm like Mr. Poyser, " I know the pints of a 
gal " better than Mrs. Poyser did when she wondered 
the men did not admire Dinah as much. She might 
have been a very soothing companion, but not at all at- 
tractive to me. I feel so badly for Arthur and Hetty 
that it almost spoils the whole book, and the little pink 
handkerchief in the waste-paper basket was more touch- 
ing to me by far than the most exalted actions in Dinah's 
earnest life. I don't like good people very much, I 
think, — not being congenial. Poor Hetty, simple, vain 
little thing; but one cannot help following her with af- 
fection to the very end. What does thee think we have 
for reading now? — " Footfalls on the Boundary of An- 
other World," which I advise thee by all means not to 
read. Thee has already enough superstition in thy 
composition, and my mind is entirely unable to bear it, 
so I give thee my experience. Ghosts! cold airs! rustles! 
shadows! apparitions! coffins! voices! haunted houses! 
etc., etc., etc., so that I am afraid to go in the dark, 
and see and hear a thousand things that I never thought 
of before. It is, however, very interesting. There are 
very many strange things, unaccountable and incom- 



1860 to 1863. 99 

prehensible, but I am willing to believe that my friends 
know me well enough to be certain that a visit from 
them after death would be very unsuitable and unwel- 
come to me. I am not the least afraid of my friends, 
but bad spirits might wish to torment me, and I am 
afraid to get into their power. Thee ought to see how 
Alice ridicules such foolish fears; her terrors are all 
tangible, and so I tell her can be reasoned away, but 
feeling comes before all reason, and can't be put aside. 
Father is reading the Congressional news aloud, and 
I hardly know what I am writing, so thee must make 
what sense thee can of it. What do you think of the 
reward offered for Father Garrett? Alice is in a great 
way about it, but I have a sort of trust in his being taken 
care of, for he certainly has never taken care of himself. 
It seems like the "reign of terror," doesn't it? One is 
afraid to be anything but a passive instrument. We 
are certainly very lukewarm compared to the abolition 
party, but these ultraists disgust us all, though they 
certainly do the good of rousing everybody to thought. 
If one could have any faith in politicians, I should think 
we might be glad of Hickman's position, but everybody 
has " an axe to grind." First-day William and John 
were out, and telling us about the Peyton dinner, at 
which they were, and found it entertaining. Mary and 
Carrie were both here, too; all stayed about an hour. 
Carrie looks very well, and says the baby is at last 
named, — Mildred, which is pretty enough for them to 
have decided upon long ago. 

Millbourne, April 10th, 1860. 
It has been on my mind all day to write to thee, but 
instead have cut carpet rags; so thee may judge which 
is the pleasanter manner of passing my time. I am very 
anxious to make our kitchen look more respectable, and 
the never-failing hope in Alice's composition has given 
the incentive to make a beginning. When it will be 

Lore. 



100 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

finished time alone can determine, but being as thee and 
Saide are citizens, and not likely to need rag carpets, 
I hope you will remember your country relations, and 
save me all the old duds which you would otherwise 
consign to the flames. I am just now in the spirit of 
cutting, and hope we will be visited by a fit of sewing 
some time before long. Oh, didn't we use to enjoy 
those old rag sewings, and can thee imagine how we 
would all appear to one another now if the old circle 
met again? When we were little, doesn't thee remem- 
ber how Mother used to pay us two cents a ball, and how 
we always left the last end of little ones for her to 
sew? — wretched little things that we were! She never 
complained, but took everything so cheerfully and 
praised us for what we had done. As I was cutting the 
cloth to-day, I seemed to see her lap full, down at the 
old window, and the ridge on her thumb which the scis- 
sors made after a day's cutting, and how tired she used 
to get; — but I won't think about it. 

May 30th, 1860. 

All afternoon I have been drowsing on the settee, 
Alice breaking the Sabbath by finishing a dress to wear 
to-morrow. But as I was at Episcopal church this 
morning, I was convinced of the necessity of abstaining 
from all manner of labor. Thee will wonder how I 
came to sit under the teachings of Dr. Ducachet, but 
Nate and I concluded to go in town this morning, in- 
stead of to Darby, and went down to Mr. Furness's. We 
were an hour too early, and sat listening to the chimes 
in St. Stephen's Church, and finally concluded we would 
go in with the crowd, particularly as Nate had never 
seen their services before. His Quaker education, how- 
ever, has unfitted him for the appreciation of such cere- 
monies, and his only remark, when we came out, was 
that he'd found out now where not to go in the future. 



1860 to 1863. 101 

Thee will be glad to learn that the new hospital 
across the way is to be commenced instanter, the build- 
ing under the charge of Mr. Sidney, who is to stake it 
out on Third-day next. If you continue to absent 
yourselves as you have done, it will be finished before 
you get up. Aunt Sarah will probably tell you of our 
trip to the Belmont Hospital, and of Mr. Gries's polite- 
ness, particularly directed to her. I hope she got 
home safely with her stones and blocks and trees, for 
certainly she had enough to impede her progress. We 
had a real nice visit from her, and she closed her eyes 
as well as her mouth to the melodeon, which no doubt 
shocked her exceedingly. While she was here I got up 
at four o'clock to practice, so I might not hurt her feel- 
ings by doing so in her presence, but unfortunately the 
last morning she came down before I expected her, and 
whatever she thought she had the prudence to remain 
silent. Our melodeon travels from one room to another, 
and I think Father enjoys even those everlasting scales, 
for sometimes when I've closed the door of the sitting- 
room after he has gone to bed, I have found it open, and 
on inquiry found he wanted to hear the music. It has 
been down in the parlor these two weeks past, and is 
now on a short visit up-stairs, but I think I shall find 
enough occupation with the sewing-machine up there 
to be glad of the change into the parlor for practising. 
My work seems to accumulate, and my new girl is a 
poor sort of an affair in every respect. My cook turns 
out quite worth, and so much cleaner than Ann that it 
is a pleasure to go into the kitchen. The other one 
nearly sets me crazy, and she is personally so unpleasant 
to me that it»will require the patience of Job to teach 
her. 

Millbourne, September 8th, 1860. 

I have some thought of getting somebody to " born " 
me a child, as I don't see any prospect of your giving 



102 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Helen to me, and Herbert would not stay with me, I 
suppose, even if they would spare him. I miss him 
dreadfully, and he is, without exception, the best child 
I ever saw. Now, don't get up any jealousy, for thee 
knows there is no need, but I always said Helen was a 
hard child to manage, and she gets spoken to crossly very 
often when it doesn't do any good, and Fm afraid some- 
times does harm. However, I don't presume to teach, 
or you will talk like John and Carrie about old maids' 
children! but she feels so very near to me, that it cuts 
me to the heart when I see her little troubles suppressed 
by harsh tones. I have an indistinct impression that 
there was a bargain about her coming to me, when an- 
other came into your household. . . . 

April, I860. 

. . . Dear me, but I would hate to have such a 
slow lover as D. I do like activity, even in love, 
and would like a man to come to some kind 
of a conclusion very soon, or I should try to come 
to it for him. Woe betide him if he waited for 
my lead. Well, I have seen a good deal of the ten- 
der passion in all its different stages, and have come to 
think that though ever charming, ever new, it is a very 
old story and rather common, so thee sees it is best for 
me to keep my present position, if I wish to be singular. 

Father is getting real sleepy, and I know wants to go 

to bed, and I think I will say good-night and wait for 

news from thee. 

Millbourne, October 9th, 1860. 

I expect thee has a rod in soak for me for not writ- 
ing before, but I must plead indisposition. I have been 
quite sick since Helen came, but am now on the conva- 
lescent list. We have this moment returned from a ride 
to Haverford School (where Nate had business), and 
Helen has sung and talked the whole time, — the sing- 
ing being a combination of Dixie's Land and a desire to 
become an angel and stand around the Heavenly 



1860 to 1863. 103 

Father's throne. She seems quite well, and as happy 
as usual; but she has certainly grown out of my knowl- 
edge almost, — has big ways, and is getting to that age 
when her mind needs development. She told me to-day 
that I was " too simple for anything," because I didn't 
understand how to tie her sash, and she evidently con- 
siders me in a very benighted condition because Fve 
got no new dresses. The first thing I did when she 
got here was to let the tuck out of her drawers and have 
her poor little bare knees covered. As I see an inter- 
minable pile, I consider it none of my business to inter- 
fere to such an extent, but I really think it outrageous to 
have thy own legs comfortably enveloped in canton flan- 
nel, and thy dresses down to thy heels, and she, the child 
of thy bosom, running about in almost nakedness, — as 
Father says, " scudding under bare poles." I would 
have put her woven drawers on, but I knew she would 
have nothing warmer for winter; so I quietly determined 
that I would let the buttons down on her bodies, and 
have her knees covered up. Thee thinks thee knows a 
great deal about dress, and Fm very much impressed 
with thy taste, but I go in for comfort, and thy poor child 
has her head full enough of notions now, so I mean to 
give her an antidote to the cultivation of such undi- 
vided interest in one subject. I told her to-day that her 
love of dress was distressing, and she turned around in 
the most supreme contempt and replied, " I don't be- 
lieve a word of that." Truly, she is getting on in life. 
Now, I am coming down after little Fanny, whom I 
hope you have all welcomed sufficiently. For my part, 
Fm glad it is a little girl; I would rather Helen had a 
sister than a brother. She says her name is Lilly, but 
I think you might call it Fanny, — it is such a sweet 
name, and thee's only " Fin." 



104 ' THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Millbourne, October 11th, 1860. 

Alice says there is no use to write a word to thee, 
dear Fin, since thee can't see to read it; but I know very 
well thee will scold dreadfully if I don't send frequent 
word of Helen's welfare, and I've no doubt thee has 
somebody employed to read all the scrawls thee receives. 
I have just put Helen to bed, and as she has had quite 
an experience to-day, I have no doubt she felt quite 
ready for it. She always goes to take Aunt Alice to 
school in the morning, as the grass is too long and wet 
to cross the fields. After we returned this morning, 
I concluded to take her to meeting, with which arrange- 
ment she was perfectly delighted, — told me that her 
own dear Mama wanted her to go, and that I must put 
on her purple dress with a double skirt; and when I 
presumed to use my own judgment, she said, " I tell you, 
Aunt Pattie, my Mama won't like it if you don't do as 
I tell you; she told me you must put on my purple dress 
and my new slippers and my hat with a feather when 
you took me to meeting." I dressed her according to 
my own fancy with her last winter's dress (which is the 
prettiest one she has, for she looks the cutest in it), her 
gaiters and her new panties, which, thee may be sure, 
I fixed so as to cover her knees, and come down as far 
as her gaiters, which, being new with a blue edge, she 
preferred showing. However, she was reconciled to 
everything when I put on her new sack and hood, sav- 
ing her " hat with a feather " for another occasion. She 
attracted universal attention, and was as good as she 
could be; but then I did not insist on her sitting still, 
and let her get up and down as often as she chose, my 
only restriction being upon her tongue, which, with 
difficulty, she kept quiet till meeting broke, when she 
broke forth in great sociability to everybody round. 
Martha Andrews, Mary Hibberd and Janie sat directly 
behind us, and to their great amusement she insisted 



1860 to 1863. - 105 

upon dusting off her gaiters with my clean handkerchief 
and displaying the contents of my pocket in my lap. 
She was very amusing in looking around at them, and 
with her little finger uplifted counting the folks in the 
house, the result of which calculation she frequently 
whispered to me. After meeting, everybody seized upon 
her and kissed her, and she was all thee could desire, so 
thee may know I felt very proud of her, and for the life 
of me could not keep my face straight on the occasion. 
She recognized Janie as " Auntie Janie," which remark 
was smothered in kisses immediately. Tell Eli the last 
news of Nate is an expedition last night to Isaac Hib- 
berd's. When he found the house deserted, all the 
folks gone next door to Father Hibberd's, Nathan got into 
his carriage, left no name, but went to Darby and spent 
the evening with Cousin Anna Pearson!!! Very deep, 
isn't he? Janie asked me this morning if Nathan wasn't 
there last night, — the girl told her a gentleman called, 
and she knew it must be Nathan, when he didn't come 
over. He is a queer stick, and makes me have a dozen 
minds about him in one week, but I give him up now 
beyond any measure which I can use. This afternoon 
Helen and I walked across the fields to meet Aunt Alice, 
with whom she quarrels all the time she is with her, 
and the minute she is gone is fretting to get her back. 
If Alice takes hold of my hand, Helen immediately 
seizes upon the other and says, " This is the nicest 
hand," and if she makes any other demonstration, it is 
immediately outdone by Helen's watchfulness. I talk 
of going to town in the morning to help Sis get a shawl, 
and will leave Helen at 1723, to amuse herself till Anna 
and Bessie come home at noon. She promises to be 
good, and I find if her mind is prepared for any trial, 
she is generally willing to submit. She slept with her 
Grandfather while Sister M.'s children were here, but 
she said he was too big, and she would rather sleep in 



106 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

her own little bed; and I think her Grandfather was 
quite willing, though he professed to be satisfied. I 
found, however, he slept with one eye open, and both 
ears, I believe; so I'm sure he must have needed rest. 

Why don't you send me the name of the baby? They 
say it is so pretty that I hope even its Mother is satis- 
fied. If you don't call it Fanny, I think you had better 
let Mother Garrett name it rather than give it her name. 
The compliment would be the same, and you might 
stand the chance of a prettier one, though Eachel to 
me is never objectionable. I have had pleasant and sad 
associations with it which make it really dear to me; 
but the baby might just as well be Fanny, or somebody 
else will use it in the Garrett family. 

Millbourne, October 17th, 1860. 
Having tucked our little darling safe in her bed, I 
think it best to relieve my mind to thee in regard to 
her. She is far nicer, sweeter, and better than any 
child thee can ever hope to have again, so don't plume 
thyself upon Rachel; but for all that, I am almost ready 
to have her go home, and all because I am getting nerv- 
ous about the prevailing disease in the neighborhood. 
Now, don't get frightened, for Helen is perfectly well, 
but diphtheria is going the rounds among the children, 
and a good many of Alice's scholars have left on ac- 
count of it; and I have gone through the most dreadful 
apprehensions on her account, imagining what would 
happen if she were taken sick. I never could trust her 
to homeopathy, and thee would never forgive me if I 
didn't. Thee knows it is the kind of sickness that re- 
quires instant and vigorous measures, so of course I can- 
not feel quite easy without letting thee know of its 
prevailing here. It is a very bad time to have her go 
home on thy account, and I don't know that it is at all 
necessary, so if you feel easy to have her stay, I shall be 



1860 to 1863. 107 

glad to take care of her and do all I know to keep 
her well, provided you will have all confidence in my 
endeavors, sick or well. Eli had very little to tell us 
when he was up First-day, except that the baby's name 
was Kachel, which Helen stoutly denies. She won't 
have her baby called that ugly name; but her ideas 
change frequently, and she calls it Lucy, Lillie, Alice, 
Bessie, Aunt Pattie, Grandfather, and Uncle Kate, just 
as her fancy leads. Yesterday Aunt Hannah and Beck 
were here, and she told them the baby's name was Alice, 
insisting upon it; but to-day she thinks Aunt Pattie is 
the prettiest name. Of course, you will give the poor 
baby something prettier than plain Eachel, while it is 
the victim of your wishes, and can't resist. To this 
day I am ready to rise in rebellion at the meaningless 
title I received when I had no words to express my ab- 
horrence, but a good motive may excuse everything. 
Helen would like very much to see her dear Aunt Annie, 
and she knows Uncle Hanson will laugh when he sees 
her, — she told Aunt Annie she would come again, and 
she never did. Almost every day she has some fresh 
story to tell of her stay there, and yesterday she told 
Ann that her Aunt Annie had a nice kitchen, and Helen 
could make pies and cakes there, and Chappie had more 
children than William, which in her eyes is a mark of 
his superiority. 

Johnson and Sarah left here yesterday, and I am go- 
ing in to-morrow to see them off. They leave Philadel- 
phia at 12 o'clock if it is a suitable day for S. to be 
out, and I am quite sure I shall never see her again. 
I have been very busy all day trying to finish a sontag 
for her to wear in traveling, and Helen has been ex- 
ceedingly interested in its progress. The zephyr she 
held with her own little hands, and did all she could to 
keep up my spirits about it, telling me, " Never mind, 
never mind, Helen will help Aunt Pattie." Then, when 



108 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

the skein got tangled, she did wish her Mama was here, 
she eonld " fix it/ 7 and " if Annt Alice could only come 
home from school/ 7 etc., etc., etc. It was too funny to 
see her with Johnson, who is essentially stiff. She made 
him nurse her baby, and walk up and down the room 
with it when it cried, because it had " such a very bad 
stomach-ache "; asked him all kinds of questions, and 
made us all laugh to see his evident interest in her. 
Sarah thought she was the sweetest little thing, but it 
made her more anxious to get back to her own chil- 
dren. 

Millbourne, October 24th, 1860. 
It seems to me, dear Fin, now that evening has come, 
and I have time to breathe after the labors of the day, 
that someone is dead, the feeling in the house is so 
desolate without Helen. Her playthings are all strewn 
about the parlor just as she left them, and all over the 
house are unmistakable traces of her presence. Then 
I feel so bad because I think I have been so cross with 
her all the time she has been here; whether she really 
needed correction, or I was very low in my stock of pa- 
tience, I am unable to decide. But certainly the 
thought of it now is anything but pleasant. I wish I 
had taken more time, and not been so annoyed with 
trifles. She is such a dear, good, affectionate little thing 
that I feel reproached at my own unworthiness in tak- 
ing care of her. It was a particularly busy time, and 
she never let me stir out of her sight without crying 
after me; so we had quite a time; but in all other ways 
she was as good as possible. I wish I could have gone 
home with her, and I could then have taken a less hur- 
ried leave of her, and seen thee and little Rachel, too; 
but it was utterly impossible, though Eli said, " Oh, I 
know the girls could manage "; but he don't know every- 
thing, and I have come to the sage conclusion that what 
you want done well you must do yourself. 



1860 to 1863. 109 

The next time thee has a baby, do time it better. It 
could not have been a more inconvenient season for at- 
tention from me, and I want, too, to see thee very much. 
In the first place, house-cleaning, and in the midst 
comes quarterly meeting, which, of course, must be at- 
tended to; and then if I live and have my being after 
this big house is gone over, I shall certainly get down 
to see thee, for I think it is outrageous not to have done 
so before; but I know thee can never have a baby half 
so nice as Helen. I don't feel as if she belonged to me 
yet, and will try to get up some affection for her, as 
Saide says she is a sweet little thing, — I don't take thy 
testimony in the case! Alice and Helen had a daily 
quarrel about little Eachel, whom Alice claimed for her 
pet, as Helen wouldn't let her have Aunt Pattie, and 
she would get perfectly outraged at her, and told me 
privately, just before she left, that she " did not like 
Aunt Alice at all." The other day I said to her, " Oh, 
Helen, do be still! I get perfectly sick of hearing thee 
talk." She looked at me in utter silence a while, and 
then said, " My Aunt Annie never gets tired of me; she 
loves Helen! " Of course I made up with her immedi- 
ately, as she roused my jealousy; and Aunt Annie is such 
a darling I am afraid her cross Aunt Pattie will be no- 
where. I felt dreadfully worried with the prevalence 
of diphtheria in the neighborhood, and I believe the 
little scamp found it out, for I never put her to bed 
but she " felt very sick in her throat," and she " did not 
believe she could get up in the morning," coughing in 
a most strained and affected manner, which led me to 
suspect a little hoax. If I come down before thy nurse 
leaves, I shall bring her back with me, for thee will have 
too much to attend to all at once. And I will enjoy and 
appreciate her company more when I have a more easy 
mind. 

Alice went down night before last to sleep with 



110 THE STORY OE A LIFE. 

Carrie, and saw John's letters. He is having a splendid 
time, and I am real glad, for he needed relaxation. Car- 
rie is trying to get through house-cleaning before he 
comes back. My mind cannot grasp anything greater 
at present, and I never could believe or understand how 
the cultivation of the intellect was carried on under such 
adverse circumstances as present themselves in actual 
bodily delving and diving, rubbing and scrubbing, from 
morning till night. Strange as it may seem, I have dis- 
covered that I am not a woman of talent. 

January 2d, 1861. 
Now I have got through the subject uppermost in 
my thoughts, I may condescend to notice something in 
thy letter. In the first place, as to " Hopes and Fears." 
I have been very much interested in it as coming out 
in LiUell,hut I am inclined to think it is very much spun 
out, since we go through several generations in their love 
affairs, and one is generally enough to fill a book. I 
want very much to see the book, however, for I have 
not half read it, and Phoebe Fulmort is such a refresh- 
ing character, — not carried away by foolish hopes or 
fears or vain imaginings, but a perfect exponent of the 
Scripture injunction to " do whatsoever the hand find- 
eth to do/' What a good time we would have reading 
it if I were only there, but as I cannot be, I shall expect 
thee to be generous enough to lend it when thee is done 
with it. 

If the country comes to war, what is thee going to 
do? Buckle on thy husband's armor, or maim him for 
life? It is well I have no husband to think about, and 
if mine gets killed I won't know it. 

August 19th, 1861. 

I am afraid, dear Fin, thy impression . will be con- 
firmed in regard to my indifference as to my visit to 
Wilmington. Did Sis tell thee why I couldn't bear to 



1860 to 1863. Ill 

go ? No, I suppose not. Well, then, to come to a plain 
statement, I am afraid! Now, thee may laugh as much 
as thee chooses, but I make this last protest towards go- 
ing any farther South, and then tell thee, for every 
other reason, I want to go very much indeed. My pres- 
ent intention is to leave Philadelphia in the 4 o'clock 
train on Fifth-day afternoon. I would say on Fourth- 
day instead, but will give myself one day longer to get 
stronger, for I do not think I could ride as far as Phil- 
adelphia now, much less to Wilmington, and I do want 
to be free from all complaints while with you. I hope 
you will make it easy for me to be in the bosom of my 
own family, rather than attempting to shine in society, 
as I feel myself totally unfitted for anything of the kind, 
and I shall lazy around and order you about to my 
heart's content. We will have a good little time, I 
know, and if the rebels take Washington you shall all 
come right home with me. I am dreadfully afraid they 
will seize upon the railroads, and I shall be just in their 
midst, but will not thee send me off at the first suspicion 
of such a transaction? Do not put it off until it is too 
late. 

I am in earnest about going, and if it were not for 
the rebels should look forward to it with unalloyed en- 
joyment. I hope they will not interfere in any way, and 
this great calm may not precede a storm, of which I am 

in constant dread. 

Melbourne, August 11th, 1862. 

I keep wishing for one of you all the time, and the 
house feels so quiet, I cannot express to you my sense of 
want. It seems strange that the ways of Providence are 
so inscrutable. Everybody says I was never meant to 
live alone, and yet I have that dispensation more than 
most folks. But I begin to adopt Helen's ideas, and am 
willing to believe that " Heaven must be a pretty nice 
place when there is nothing to cry for," so it is well to 



112 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

look beyond the present. Indeed, it is very necessary 
for comfort now-a-days to ignore all passing events, — 
certainly, everything in public affairs looks very black 
indeed. I have a regular fit of the blues from a careful 
perusal of to-day J s paper. What are we to do? Traitors 
in our midst, and such enemies before us, and this draft- 
ing sending such misery among us. It is no trifle now, 
to enroll the militia, — the assessors have a hard time 
of it, and they say the scenes are heart-rending; little 
children battling against them, crying and begging them 
" not to go in and take Father to the wars." Hugh 
Mcllvain was telling us the other day of some of the ex- 
periences of their assessor, and truly his office is no sine- 
cure in these times. 

I have just been reading " Doctor Antonio," a tale 
of Italian life, and a heart-rending picture of the suf- 
ferings of political prisoners during their late revolution. 
Italy always seemed a mixed-up affair to me, and I got 
really tired of Littell's Living Age, with its continuous 
references to it, — first one policy and then another. 
Now I wish I had acquainted myself more with its his- 
tory, as it seems quite ignorant not to understand the 
different allusions to such prominent characters in the 
revolution. I begin to have quite a sympathy with Mar- 
garet Fuller in her interest in the cause of liberty there, 
and every tale of oppression and outrage brings our own 
more vividly in mind. It seems to me there is no end to 
this war till liberty is proclaimed throughout the land 
to all the inhabitants thereof, and I fear we will suffer 
in all our homes before such is the case. 

Millbourne, September 14th, 1862. 

It is always easier to write if one has a letter to an- 
swer, and though I have nothing worth saying, yet just 
for the sake of a letter from thee, I write when I am 
tired and sleepy, and would be much better in bed. 



1860 to 1863. 113 

It has been upon my mind for a few days past that the 
weather seems suitable for painting, and if you are go- 
ing to attempt it in the prospect of Jeff Davis's reign, 
you will probably not much longer postpone it; there- 
fore our visit will come soon. I wrote a pressing invi- 
tation for Sary to come up this week or last, but she 
never arrived; and so I suppose it did not suit her ar- 
rangements at home to leave, or perhaps she was thrown 
into the same state of excitement and alarm that we have 
all experienced during the past week, and felt unwilling 
to put herself into the danger of Philadelphia and its 
vicinity. Indeed, it is no longer any joke about the 
rebels. We have felt considerable anxiety, and are 
every moment dreading some fresh disaster, or advance 
into our State. The Governor's proclamation did not 
diminish our fears. I was at Darby on Fifth-day last, 
and it was really sickening to see one after another go 
off, and knots of men standing around with anxious 
faces. In the evening a company was formed, and a 
telegram sent next morning to the Governor that they 
were ready to start at an hour's notice. I felt as if the 
rebels would be in possession before I could get home, 
and altogether I am rather rejoiced for my own peace 
of mind that I live in a quiet country place, for cer- 
tainly the excitement of towns and villages is very wear- 
ing on one's nerves. We are all very busy working for 
the soldiers at the Summit Hospital, who are very much 
in need. Margaret Powell bought three pieces of flan- 
nel the other day herself, and wants us to help her make 
it up on Third-day next. She has been most faithful in 
her efforts, and puts us all to shame. I told her I did 
wish she would stop working, it makes me feel so par- 
ticularly inefficient and good-for-nothing. John and 
Carrie were here this afternoon. John told Carrie she 
ought to give some help, that money was no object, they 
must spend everything they had to help in the cause. 



114 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Poor John is dreadfully discouraged, scarcely raises a 
smile, and is very much exercised as to what it is right 
to do. They have stopped work there since the call of 
the Governor, and have been drilling with their men. 
They have formed a company of some of their most 
effective workmen, and offered to pay them their full 
wages while they are away. John says he does not see 
how they can stop work, or do without their workmen, 
for they have already been very much hurried, and have 
just received a fresh order from the Government. It 
costs them between three and four hundred dollars a 
day to stop to drill as they have been doing, and of 
course when they can no longer turn out work, it will 
be a sort of ruinous business to continue their high 
wages. But I think they show their patriotism quite as 
much as if they shouldered their muskets. John is dis- 
couraged in the same way that I am, — to think that 
nothing seems to convince the Government of the neces- 
sity of employing colored citizens, instead of taking our 
workmen from among us, whose places cannot be sup- 
plied, and whose labor makes the wealth of the country. 
But we must go through more disasters before we yield 
to the plain pointings of Providence. It is heart-sicken- 
ing to see the sacrifice of all that we hold dear just to 
support a miserable prejudice; but I ought not to have 
touched upon this subject, for I cannot do any good, and 
it only aggravates my spirit of impatience at the imbe- 
cility of our administration. 

Sister M. and daughters came out yesterday, and ex- 
pect to return in the morning. I talk of riding in with 
them, and doing a few errands, among other things get- 
ting some more glass jars for putting up fruit. When 
nice peaches get to be thirty-seven and one-half cents a 
basket, one may well feel inclined to lay in a stock of 
them. I have also the promise of some pears this week. 



1860 to 1863. 115 

and think maybe our house may be turned into a hos- 
pital this winter, and we may need all we can get. Nate 
is very much exercised as to this call of the Governor's. 
If it were not for Mary, he would join a company at 
once. He is afraid he may be drafted, and then no sub- 
stitute can be gotten for love or money, and he must go 
with all the riff-raff of the place. There is a perfect 
rush to Media to take the oath which exempts from 
draft, among others G-. F. Nate says he cannot see how 
any man can take the oath; no one can say with truth 
that he would not act in self-defence were his life threat- 
ened. But there are a great many quirks and turns to 
a man's conscience, and I suppose they can whip the old 
fellow around in a way to satisfy their requirings even 
if all the world is blind to the force of their arguments. 

March 17th, 1863. 

I have just been reading the life of Charles I., by 
Abbott, and I think it will about suit thy caliber, so if 
thee can get it out of the library, do so. It is as in- 
teresting as a novel, and the sort of history which does 
not presume upon knowledge, so it suits me exactly. In- 
deed, I am like Helen; I like the Hollo books, and from 
that on, up to such histories as these. Children's books 
are always entertaining, and I think not at all beneath 
our notice as regards knowledge. I do not know 
whether thee is thrown enough with church folks to 
hear about a new book which is making quite a stir in 
such circles. It is entitled " The Present Heaven," and 
is said to be most excellent. I have a little book by the 
same author, called " The Two Friends," which I lent 
to Alice to read first, as I already had several others on 
hand. She says it is a beautiful thing, and makes her 
more impatient to see the other. She read me some of 
it to-day, and I imagine I shall like it. 



116 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Father is nearly asleep over the book I have just 
recommended to thee to get from the library, so maybe 
thee will " go and do likewise." I am also slumbering 
while I talk to thee, and nothing could be more stupid 
than I feel at present. 

Melbourne, July 14th, 1863. 

Now we shall look for thee certainly Sixth-day, if 
not before, and I will do my best to keep Alice, who, as 
thee well knows, is very uncertain property; but I must 
give her credit for being very good this week, and stay- 
ing with me as much as possible in spite of unfavorable 
circumstances at Darby. I hold on to her with a good 
grasp, for I feel more and more how much she is to 
us here in our loneliness. Sister M. thinks we had 
better club together this summer, and if we had a good 
housekeeper I would willingly go back to little Willie 
Barclay's " wish that we had a big banging-house where 
all my peoples as loves one another could live together 
and not make a noise." Oh, dear, these are times when 
we may well wish for a season of quietness. The reports 
from New York are terrible, and make us tremble for 
Philadelphia. Alice at once decides against her visit to 
Brooklyn, and is writing to that effect to Mary, who has 
been urging her immediate arrival there. No place will 
be safe, I fear, if the draft is continued, and it does seem 
rather hard that those must go who cannot possibly 
raise three hundred dollars, — making money the only 
safety. Oh, we are in troubles of every kind, and there 
seems no ray of light, not even through the fall of 
Vicksburg and Meade's victory. 

She writes of a trying day. William, the coachman, 
who lived in a house by the stable, died at the hospital, 
leaving a wife and several small children. The wife was 



1860 to 1863. 117 

a shiftless woman, but they had to be provided for, and 
of course the burthen must be borne by Father and 
Pattie. She says: 

Millbourne, October 30th, 1863. 

Whenever I get into a very low spot, dear Fin, and 
feel generally miserable, I turn in the most natural man- 
ner imaginable to writing to some of you, and the con- 
sequence is you generally have forlorn letters; but it is 
a relief to tell our troubles, and when I cannot talk, I 
must write. So now behold me seated quite alone in 
the parlor, the rain beating against the window, and my 
nerves quite unstrung with listening to its never-ceasing 
patter. I have just been around to William's to try to 
comfort his poor wife, who is now a widow. He died 
very suddenly on Fourth-day, at the hospital. Father 
had been to see him that afternoon, and had had some 
talk with him, but although he thought he would never 
recover, no one had an idea his end was so near. He 
begged Father to take him home, and seemed greatly 
distressed at .being left. He said, "If you leave me 
here, Mr. Sellers, I know I shall die." Father tried to 
put him off, and said he would see him next morning, 
when he would get an ambulance and have him taken 
out. At this promise William seemed comforted, and 
Father came out to take his wife in to see him, but he 
had hardly gotten home when word was brought of his 
death. Oh, it was terrible to see the grief and distress 
down there! Poverty and wretchedness without any 
habits of thrift have made them miserable enough at all 
times, but now when their sole support is taken away, 
it seems absolutely frightful to them. What is to be 
done with them I cannot tell, but we must try to find 
places for the girls somewhere. Father has been over 
to the Bird Asylum to try to get them in there, but 



118 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

they will only take those under eight, and little Martha 
is the only one that is young enough. The two boys 
are mere babies, and another one evidently on the way, 
which is an added misfortune. Altogether it is a mis- 
erable household, and I never saw anyone so poor a 
manager as Amelia. Does thee know of anyone to take 
Ehoda or Eliza? They are nice children, and I would like 
them to be well brought up, with different habits from 
their poor mother. Now, this is trouble enough to con- 
template, certainly enough to make me forget my own, 
but I will tell thee of them, too, so thee may know I 
have some reason to feel nervous and low-spirited to- 
night. 

On Second-day I was in town a little while, and 
acted upon Hanson Robinson's suggestion of going to 
Leslie's for a man; also remembering Annie's injunc- 
tion that it should be a single man if I wanted to keep 
my girls. There seemed to be little choice, and I saw 
no one, but Leslie told me of a man who had been coach- 
man for Mr. Dallett, who would be the very thing. He 
advised Father calling there on Wednesday, which he 
accordingly did, and hired the man, who was a widower; 
and that (" thinks I to myself ") is better than any sin- 
gle man, for they are always ripe for matrimony. Well, 
he came last night, and the very sight of him made me 
quake, for he had a horrid blear when he looked at you, 
and I should never feel safe to be left with him. Father, 
too, was rather disappointed in him, but this morning, 
after taking Alice to Darby, I said to him when he took 
the horse that he had better rub her dry before he left 
her, for she had such a dreadful cough. He said noth- 
ing, but took her away, and in about ten minutes came 
up and asked to see me. I went down, never doubting, 
and he looked at me in a perfect fury, and asked me 
when I got to be boss of this place. " Where is your 
father?" I told him he was in town. "Well, then," 



1860 to 1863. 119 

said he, " I would just like you to know you had better 
pay my expenses to this confounded place, for I will 
never be bossed by a woman," and so he went on in a 
perfect tirade against me, until I felt so weak I could 
hardly stand. However, I waited till he had gotten com- 
fortably through, as I thought, and then said, in my 
most decided manner: " Andrew, I shall pay you noth- 
ing; it is better not to get so angry; I see you intend to 
frighten me, but I am not the least afraid of you, — 
(the biggest story!), — so there is no use in your talk- 
ing in this way. I assure you I will never pay you a 
penny! " When I was through this speech I had to 
listen to another tirade of abuse, in the midst of which 
I went upstairs and locked myself in my room, and felt 
so completely unnerved I could do nothing but cry. 
And there I stayed, and heard him cursing me outside 
until he was tired and went away. Oh, Fin, thee cannot 
think how glad I was when Father came home, for I felt 
as if I had no one to depend upon, — even Lizzie was 
down at William's, and the two new girls felt strange 
and unreliable. They are not at' all taking to me, and 
the cook most decidedly I will not keep. She is slow 
and dirty and no cook at all. Oh, dear, I am sick of 
everybody, and wish I could be tied up in cotton the 
rest of my life. I do not like strangers at any time, but 
now feel absolutely in their power, and am afraid of 
them. 

I was interrupted in this narrative by the arrival of 
Washington Levis with William's body. It is to be 
dressed this evening, and Father and he are now en- 
gaged in doing it. In the morning it is to be brought 
up here, and the funeral takes place at 10 o'clock. We 
have all the arrangements to make, and everything to 
attend to, as she has neither means nor friends. I was 
over at Uncle William George's this afternoon to inform 
Harriet, but she would not come home with me, as she 



120 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

did not want to see her father dead, when he would not 
let her see him alive. Poor child, she cried as if her 
heart would break, and I thought what a relief it must 
be to give one's self perfect freedom in expression. Oh, 
the trammels of society and cultivation! I wonder if 
they do not do us more harm than good. I would like 
to scream and shriek many a time, and I just sit quiet 
and say nothing and look like a stone, and nobody knows 
I feel a particle. Indeed, I have been on the stretch 
all this week, and have never had a bit of relief until 
to-day, when I could not hold up a minute longer, and 
now I have written it all to you. I think I am a mere 
baby. . . . 

Tell Eli if he knows of anyone that can " be bossed 
by a woman," it would be a great relief to have him 
come to us. Father does not boss anything but Cousin 
Mary's estate and the plank road, and it seems to rest 
upon me to look after things often, but I thought my 
remark to Andrew to-day was the most harmless in the 
world. It makes me feel weak to think of it, and then 
the idea of my pretending to be so bold! If he could 
have seen me after I got the door locked he would have 
been gratified to know that I was thoroughly alarmed. 



CHAPTEE VIII. 

1864 and 1865. 

Millbourne, January 16th, 1864. 

Had I not seen Eli the other morning, dear Fin, and 
sent my messages by him, I should naturally have 
obeyed thee by writing at once, but I was very glad to 
be relieved of the necessity, as my hands were tolerably 
full of other matters, and after all that palaver of thine 
I felt really unequal to thy expectations. Now, the first 
effect of flattery having passed off, I can be quite at my 
ease in writing; otherwise I should probably fail as de- 
cidedly as did Mr. Gough when he tried to relate an 
anecdote the second time, after great commendation for 
the first. 

I thought of you night before last, supposing you 
were enjoying his fun, and a passing fancy impelled me 
to get in the cars and go down to surprise you, but as 
no immediate means presented of communicating with 
you, I was forced to come back and report myself, so 
both you and Mr. Gough lost the honor of my visit. I 
was in town that morning, partly to see Sister Mary and 
partly to get trimmings for my dress, which by the time 
spring fairly opens I think I shall have the pleasure 
of wearing, and it being of the heaviest quality of rep, 
thee may know how exceedingly appropriate it will 
be. . . . 

I was quite provoked that Sister Mary did not come 
out yesterday when I was expecting her, and went with 
the firm intention of giving her a scolding. However, 
she quite disarmed me by a partial relation of her trou- 
bles, and there followed great doubt and discouragement 



122 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

with regard to Eliza, * who was dreadfully homesick. 
To relieve her I brought her home, where she now is, 
with a promise to stay over Sunday. Mrs. Levis took 
Martha [Eliza's sister] away the other day, which will 
probably have the same result; and the poor mother cries 
after them continually. One cannot help but pity her, 
and then the double trial coming upon her, of parting 
with the two little boys, and bringing into the world an 
additional care, seems almost too heavy to be borne. It 
seems imperative to separate the family, and as Father is 
really needing the house, we feel compelled to hasten 
the denouement. Father has had several offers for the 
house, but none particularly desirable, although he is 
very anxious to make some change in his arrangements 
for work. He is heartily sick of Michael, whose man- 
ner is very unpleasant to him, and whose work does not 
soften his feelings towards him. For myself, I have 
never had any trouble, except in the continued care 
which devolves upon me; and as Michael has no judg- 
ment of his own, and yet an inordinate self-esteem, it is 
often really quite a labor, which, in addition to my other 
duties, is really more than I am able for. Last night 
poor Michael " put his foot in it " by complaining of 
the table, which, under the new cook's supervision, did 
not please his lordship. Lizzie, as thee well knows, 
would do anything for peace, and, of course, gave him 
anything he wanted if it was in the house to give, — 
sometimes very much to my dissatisfaction, as I think 
what is good enough for Father is good enough for any- 
body else, and we never make any difference in the ta- 
bles. Michael has frequently complained before, Liz- 
zie says, but yesterday broke out into open rebellion, and 
gave notice to quit, unless he could have " something 

* Daughter of William, the coachman, who had just died, and 
whom Sister Mary had taken to live with her. 



1864 and 1865. 123 

better to eat." Father was indignant, and told him he 
might go any time, whereupon " conviction darted on 
his mind," and he would stay his month out if Mr. 
Sellers was willing. Father told him it depended upon 
how he conducted himself, as he would have no com- 
plaints of food which he found good enough for himself. 
Fortunately I was out of the scrape altogether, but it 
has not added to my patience with his ignorance and 
self-satisfaction, and I do not at all regret his departure, 
no matter at how short a notice it may come. . . . 

I looked for Saide to come out with Sis, and do not 
see why she did not. She certainly would not go up 
to see Ann Preston without getting here. If I find upon 
inquiry she has committed this offence, I shall treat 
her with marked displeasure. Her education has been 
faithfully attended to, and forms no excuse for this 
reprehensible behavior to one who labored " in season 
and out of season " to make her worthy of the relation- 
ship! I should certainly have written to her this week 
had I not confidently looked for her arrival day by day. 
Even yet I have not given up the idea, and think she 
may get out some time to-day. I should be too glad, 
for I just feel like having somebody to talk to, and that 
is the reason of this long string to thee, which is enough 
to make thee cry for mercy. But I do not pity thee at 
all. When I write that book in which Martha Sellers is 
to be the heroine, thee will be under the necessity of 
reviewing it, and thee may as well get used to a lengthy 
scrawl now and then. Oh, Fin, what a dunce thee is! 
Thee knows in the bottom of thy heart that thee would 
blush for shame to publish what thee has already re- 
ceived as a record of my life. What is it but pots and 
kettles, and kettles and pans? No girl now, miserable 
headache and low spirits next, then another girl, poor 
and disagreeable; another letter giving an account of the 
distress for a man; next one with a wonderful relation 



124 ' THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

of an encounter with one; — and so it goes on, from 
year's end to year's end, a series of domestic difficulties 
and disasters, and nothing to lift my mind above them. 
And yet I should not say so. There is forever about the 
atmosphere of this house a floating, impalpable presence, 
which, when cares and difficulties beset me, and I am 
ready to look back in discouragement and forward with 
despair, comes like a wholesome breeze, laden with cheer- 
ful thoughts and unselfish aspirations, and teaches me 
that however trivial and low the duty may be, it may yet 
be done to the glory of God by a willing surrender of sel- 
fish indulgence. But oh, Fin, I have learned this by 
painfully slow degrees. My whole nature is at war with 
the inevitable, and the plain little cross which I despise 
is I believe the hardest one for me to wear, and yet the 
only one which is suited to my condition. We all have 
to give up self some time, but some are lured into it with 
the silken cords of affection, which as thee well knows 
makes it a thousand times easier. Then there are 
some (and those not a few, as I have learned) who are 
taught their duty by a complete renunciation of all their 
day-dreams, a surrender of taste, a giving up of what 
seems more than their life, by the absence of all the 
tenderness and graces which adorn the lives of others. 
And to these, as thee may well see, it must be a hard 
lesson. I think, sometimes, I have learned it thor- 
oughly, but when the temptation comes I find myself 
yielding to it almost without a struggle, showing how 
utterly weak I am, and how important it is for me to 
seek the only true strength, which can " lift up the weak 
hands and confirm the feeble knees." It has been a 
comfort to me many a time and often, to commune with 
the dear Spirit which blessed our lives in Mother's em- 
bodiment. Now I am afraid thee will only laugh if I 
confess to thee a weakness which nobody beside in the 
world knows. It is this: I have continually written to 



1864 and 1865. 125 

Mother as though she were still in this world, confiding 
to her what I tell to no one else. It is a sorry thing 
to look over it, for me, and yet I think has been the 
means of help and comfort to me by affording a vent 
for thoughts and feelings which would come in spite 
of myself. Sometimes a whole year has gone by with- 
out my looking into this little book, and again I write 
every month or so, but it is humiliating to me to see that 
I have only recorded the sorrows, not the blessings, 
which have filled my life. She will understand, how- 
ever, that I felt the need of her more in time of trouble; 
and it was with a foolish fancy that she was always 
pleased with my letters that I continued them when her 
dear eyes could no longer brighten with affectionate 
pride, or at least I could no longer see them. Who 
knows but she does enjoy it still! Indeed, I am per- 
suaded she has given me a portion of her spirit after 
these communings, by a sensible increase of cheerfulness 
and willingness to do the duty which lies nearest; do- 
ing it heartily " as unto Gk>d and not unto man." So, 
Fin, if thee is really anxious for me as a heroine, wait 
until I climb a little above the feeling in which this 
book has been written, and thee can then see if there 
is in it any moral that is worth extracting, or any in- 
terest such as " Hannah Thurston " gave thee. I have 
been so interested in reading this last that I could al- 
most fancy it was myself sometimes, though I do seri- 
ously object to the covert ridicule of all reforms, and the 
slight respect paid to true worth, which he continually 
allows to be cast into the shade by the graces of the 
world and the pleasant exterior of a man of fashion. I 
am quite in love with Mr. Woodbury myself, and think 
their mutual antagonism is so natural; and yet, if they 
would only look a little deeper all the time! 

Oh, I am shocked to be writing on this fourth page ; 
what have I been saying? It is too ridiculous, and I 



126 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

know thee will open the letter with the idea that a 
little flattery did it all, but it is no such thing. I began 
the letter with the firm intention of saying good-bye 
at the end of the first sheet, if not sooner; and I have 
been led on by the connection or suggestion of one sub- 
ject to another. I am heartily ashamed of it, particu- 
larly as I have a lot of mending staring me in the face, 
and I know it ought to be done whether this letter is 
written or not. However, now, I was really going to 
tell thee something in connection with " Hannah Thurs- 
ton," when the end of the paper impudently stopped 
me, and being indignant, I determined to write " re- 
gardless of expense." Thee must know I am just read- 
ing " Hannah," and have only got a litle way into it, 
but the social arrangement in the beginning of throwing 
all the different societies together makes me think of 
the present state of society in Upper Darby. A certain 
Miss Sellers saw fit to have a gathering to sew for the 
Contrabands, which is like supporting a " mission at 
Jutnapore," and immediately the members of dif- 
ferent churches joined in the work, and made it an or- 
ganized thing, like the Sewing Union. It has been a 
source of infinite amusement to me that I have been 
continually recognized as the head of this movement, 
when nothing was farther from my thoughts or inten- 
tions; and now, when it was about to fall from its own 
weight, I give it another lift by inviting anybody and 
everybody who feels interested to meet here next Fourth- 
day evening; and being concerned that the Orthos 
should contribute to the fund at Eace street, I propose 
getting the work from there, and thus kill two birds 
with one stone. And they cannot object, when we have 
so faithfully worked for them. However, this is a dead 
secret, and I enjoy it particularly. Last Fifth-day we 
went to William Cope's and labored in the cause. He 
lives up on the Haverford Road, above James Bhoads's, 



1864 and 1865. 127 

has three very pleasant daughters and a very affable 
wife, all of whom have not induced him to unbend 
from the most starched-up propriety, and he looks pre- 
cisely as if he had a poker down his back. Father, 
Alice, Isabelle and I went, and with Samuel and Annie 
Rhoads and their daughter, Zella Ehoads, and her niece, 
proved the entire circle; so out of sheer compassion I 
proposed their coming to our house next Fourth-day, in 
the hope of showing them a rather better force; and if 
you are at all inclined to be amiable or useful, you will 
both come and stir the thing up. We had a real nice 
time the last meeting here, and I do not want the repu- 
tation of the place to fall through for want of your as- 
sistance and co-operation. . . . Thee can bring Chellie 
up and leave her here if thee so inclines. I want to 
have Helen after a while if she would like to come, and 
thee may tell her I often think of the happy times we 
had last winter together. She can come and help me 
to take care of Grandfather, and curl my hair for me, 
which is getting just long enough to be unmarriageable. 
I have to write in a flying hurry this last sheet, as in- 
deed all the rest, but it is shameful to waste so much 
time on a wretched creature who never writes if she can 
possibly get out of it. If Sary did not come up to town 
she may have half this letter, but if she committed the 
offence hinted at, do not let her see a line or counten- 
ance her in any way, for my sake! 

Having begun my letter about girls, I may as well 
return to the all-absorbing topic, as Nathan has just 
stopped in with a fresh report from town. Sister Mary 
has sent me word that my new girl in prospect is a 
drinking character, and unfit, moreover, to be in any- 
body's house. . . . 

Millboume, February 25th, 1864. 

It seems hardly worth while to write to thee, dear 
Fin, but it is a sort of debt I owe thee in consideration 



128 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

of the little treasure thee has lent me, and I cannot feel 
quite easy without acknowledging the pleasure she gives 
me, and make thee see that all is going on right, so far 
as I am able to judge. Just now I am very much both- 
ered to collect my thoughts, as Father is reading aloud 
to Helen in the everlasting Eollo books, and as it is an 
equal pleasure to both, I can hardly do else than strug- 
gle on with my writing in spite of distracting sugges- 
tions from Jonas and good advice from Mr. Holliday, 
with the various comments thereon first from Helen 
and then from her Grandfather. She is a most in- 
valuable companion to him, and almost every day he 
says, " How strange it is she is so happy and satisfied 
with no little folks here/' but he is " little folks " 
enough for her, and she is disposed to adapt herself to 
his thoughts as much as posible. Just now he laid 
aside the book saying he was " too sleepy; did not get 
much sleep last night." She inquired the cause, and 
having ascertained it to be " thinking," insisted upon his 
telling his thoughts, and of course they were, as usual, 
on business. She said it was a queer time to think after 
he was in bed, and if he read Rollo books he would have 
a nice kind of thoughts which would put him to sleep, 
to which no doubt he inwardly acquiesced. Well, I 
cannot help wishing I were little, and did not know 
anything, for " experience is a dull, dead thing; the vic- 
tory is in believing " ; and having the misfortune like 
Miss Wade, I see many things just as she did, which do 
not add to my belief in human nature. . . . 

Do tell Saide I felt too disappointed to find them 
gone when I got to John's that day, but could not pos- 
sibly get off a minute sooner, and thee can testify the 
labors of the day rendered me unfit for society in the 
evening. From all quarters I hear our party was a suc- 
cess, but a general complaint of want of time makes me 
think that our next will be managed so as to have a little 



1864 and 1865. 129 

time before tea, since, if we have folks to tea at all, we 
might as well have a little good of them before, instead 
of keeping them eating all the time. 

Carrie and Mrs. Keen were here a little while this 
afternoon with Miss Linton, and Carrie informs me of 
various flattering notices of our company, until I am 
sure those that stayed away did really miss something; 
don't thee think so ? 

Yesterday and day before I was in Philadelphia, try- 
ing to find a place for these Slade children, and it seems 
a very singular thing that all Philadelphia cannot afford 
an asylum for them. But so it is. I have tried every 
place, and none are willing to take them under three 
years of age, and the oldest is only two years and ten 
months. We must send the. mother on Second-day to 
the hospital, even if I have to take the children myself, 
which I assure thee is a stretch of benevolence that I 
am hardly prepared for. All public charities, so far as 
my experience goes, are, to say the least, disappointing; 
and I have tried to bribe several private parties, but all 
in vain. 

Lizzie and I came to an understanding to-day, and 
mutually agreed to part, so I am now ready to hire some 
one who can help sew, which is, after all, the greatest 
burden upon me. She is on the independent line, and 
her influence I find rather injurious to a well-disciplined 
house; and so very pleasantly this morning we arranged 
that she should no longer feel bound to stay. My time 
seems to be fully occupied with all the help I have, and 
at the end of the day I cannot see what I have done. 

Tell Sary to write to me, and I shall expect her to 
bring Herbert up next Second-day week, when Helen 
expects to have a birthday party. She wants the invi- 
tations to go out so everybody can have time to get 
ready. Her cold was increased the night of the party, 



130 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

and she is still quite hoarse, but I think somewhat bet- 
ter to-day. 

Millbourne, May 1st, 1864. 

As I behaved in such an " unsisterly manner " the 
other night, dear Fin, it would seem only a matter of 
course to continue to neglect thee; but a little warm 
gush of feeling towards thee overcame my indifference, 
and I feel compelled to write thee a few lines, instead of 
taking a nap this afternoon. Each moment I expect 
John and Carrie to arrive, by whom I design sending 
this letter, therefore if it stops in some eloquent passage, 
do not for a moment imagine that the gift of genius 
has been withdrawn, for am I not appointed formally 
on the Committee for Correspondence in aid of the great 
Central Sanitary Fair. I showed thee a letter the other 
night in which my assistance was asked in an indiscrim- 
inate manner, but the next day I received an invitation 
to meet the Committee at the house of Mrs. William 
Bunting on Saturday afternoon; so spurning all house- 
hold duties, and lifted above all the weakness of body 
incident to a morning in Philadelphia, I sailed forth 
under the pleasing conviction that I was a member of 
the Pennsylvania Department for Correspondence in 
aid of the great Fair, and all lesser duties might well be 
forgotten. Arrived at the house designated, with some 
trepidation I prepared to enter the parlor where were 
to be assembled the elite of the neighborhood; and as 
I was rather late on the field, was devising some form 
of excuse which would retain for me some portion of 
respect in those who, elevated by the great Sanitary, 
were supposed to be lifted above all human weakness, 
and devoted heart and soul to the great cause, and who 
would naturally look upon any slight dereliction from 
duty in the most severe manner. As I was about resign- 
ing my horse to the care of an Irish Paddy, Mrs. Bunt- 
ing came forth all smiles to receive me; was delighted I 



1864 and 1865. 131 

came, and immediately ushered me into the parlor, 
where I found Mrs. Isaac Price and Miss Alice A. Pear- 
son, both of whom were engaged in a most reprehensible 
manner, actually working for themselves, and not even 
engaged in thoughts of the Sanitary. Though shocked, 
I must say I was slightly relieved, and, immediately de- 
scending to their level, we left the Sanitary to take care 
of itself, and talked of various matters entirely foreign 
to the great Cause. Finding the time rapidly going, I 
ventured a few remarks on the object for which we 
were called together, but just then a likeness of a baby 
was brought forward, and we all discussed that instead. 
Then soon after, just as I said to Alice, " Don't you 
think it is time we were going?" two additional friends 
to the Cause arrived, and were hailed with great joy by 
all of us, elevated by the great Sanitary! They brought 
a dog with them, who involved considerable thought and 
discussion, and after he was finally settled and dismissed, 
I thought, now the meeting will begin; for Mrs. Bunt- 
ing asked, in an " executive " manner, what could be 
done in Upper Darby, turning to me as the only mem- 
ber of that benighted region. I modestly suggested that 
their efforts would probably combine with those of West 
Philadelphia, hoping thereby to hide the fact that there 
would most likely be nothing done. She turned politely 
to the last arrival, and said: "Mrs. Smith is so inter- 
ested in the great Cause, what a pity her husband is such 
a Copperhead " ; and forthwith the whole party joined 
in a general discussion of his character and hers, won- 
dering how she could ever have married him, and giving 
various instances of their domestic life, which were 
highly interesting but had no particular bearing upon 
the great Pair in aid of the Sanitary Commission, to 
which we were invited to give our " untiring efforts " 
and " most earnest cooperation." After a while there 
arose a discussion on the respective merits of the Sani- 



132 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

tary and the Christian Commissions, and a feeble appeal 
from Mrs. Isaac Price in favor of the Pennsylvania Be- 
lief Association. The latter was declared to have done 
more real good, and certainly with less ostentation, than 
either the Sanitary or the Christian Commission, which 
were both on such a stupendous scale as to be almost 
unmanageable. The latter was only the mouthpiece of 
George H. Stuart, and meant only for his glorification. 
The Sanitary was full of abuses; facts were stated of the 
most shocking instances of waste and neglect, all inci- 
dent to the endless red tape which contrasted with the 
good intentions of the great Sanitary, and were most 
heart-sickening to witness. A spirited defence was 
given by Mrs. William Bunting, and she stopped the 
whole discussion by allowing that there was always some 
bad people in the world who would get mixed up with 
the good! Then we tore George H. Stuart to pieces for 
having some time since attempted to sell Indulgences 
to little children, and the facts given in regard to it 
were really almost past belief. Finally I got up and 
said: " Well, Alice, we must go; it is getting late "; 
when suddenly, as though the subject were quite a new 
one, Mrs. Bunting said: " Oh, I wanted to have con- 
sulted you as to what was best to be done in aid of the 
great Fair for the Sanitary Commission. I have some 
circulars here I wish you would distribute, and if (turn- 
ing to me) thee will go around and see what thee can 
collect among the manufacturers in Upper Darby, I 
think it will be of great assistance." I politely declined, 
as already there was an officer for the revenue appointed 
of the male sex, and one much more likely to be success- 
ful. She said, " Oh, very well; whatever thee thinks 
thee can do, will be most gratefully accepted. Thee, as 
a member of the Committee for Correspondence, will 
have a great field in which to labor "; to which I 
assented, inwardly laughing over the contributions 



1864 and 1865. 133 

which I was likely to make. But I came away impressed 
with the stupendous business talents of women in gen- 
eral, myself in particular, and the very first effort in 
aid of the great Sanitary is now made by me in this 
appeal to thee: Come out from the darkness of Egypt; 
no longer hide thy light under a bushel! Put thy 
shoulder to the wheel, and thy pen to paper; send me 
either letters or essays, instanter! " There is a great 
work before us and but a limited space of time in which 
to accomplish it," — be ye ready! — at the cost of great 
personal exertion and endless sacrifices give your souls 
to the work! I ask no favors; it is a right we demand 
from all loyal women. . . . When the hands fail, let 
the mind shine forth; when the mind falters, let the 
heart inspire; we demand of you this work of Christian 
charity. . . . 

This matter weighs heavily upon me, and unless I 
have contributions from thy pen, as well as from those 
of my other friends in Wilmington, I shall proceed to 
select choice passages from your letters, and send them 
into the Post-Office Department as original production^ 
for the Great Central Fair in aid of the United States 
Sanitary Commission. Therefore write! write! write! 
convinced that you are ministering, however indirectly, 
to the wants and sufferings of the noble defenders of 
your country's flag. Ha, ha, Fin! Now do not talk to 
me, who am lifted into the Pennsylvania Department for 
Correspondence. Glory is no name for it. . . . 

Millbourne, July 6th, 1864. 
Oh, Fin! What a horrid bother thee is, worrying me 
about coming to Wilmington. Sister Mary has never 
given me any rest on the subject all the time she was 
out, and after I had finally quenched her and got her 
out of the way, here comes thy letter to unsettle me 
again. Does thee want to entertain a u dem'd moist, 



134 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

unpleasant body," for such I am assured will be my con- 
dition if I venture into the hot little town of Wilming- 
ton. However, I suppose I must sacrifice myself on the 
altar of family peace. . . . 

Sary has gone to lie down, and I am verging on the 
headache so fast that I will not write any more at this 
stupid note, but reserve all else until I see thee, which, 
if I am well, and the weather not entirely broiling, will 
probably be on Seventh-day; but what train I know not, 
having no time to consult Sister Mary. I feel prepared 
for any amount of miserable talk, and trust my " nan- 
keen bosom " may afford thee some relief. There is 
nothing in the world like a full, free talk, and I have 
had far more misery from too much reserve than all 
my imprudence ever gave me. I believe the one great 
error of my life is unatoned while I continue to attempt 
concealment of my real feelings, and so here goes. I 
shall say whatever comes uppermost, and can bear all 
thee has to say in the same determined spirit of hon- 
esty, so " Come on, Macduff!". . . 

Melbourne, September 4th, 1864. 
Sary says I might as well have stayed in Wilming- 
ton as to sit up here and write, but I have been reading 
" Faust " most of the afternoon, and hanging out the 
windows enjoying the rain beside, so now when I am 
dressed I hurried to say a few words to thee, thinking 
every moment I might be interrupted by the arrival 
from John's, where we suppose George and Annie with 
their family are. It is now nearly five o'clock, and the 
rain still comes down with a steady pour, which you 
town folks can hardly enjoy as we do, when every blade 
of grass seems scorched and withering, dying of thirst. 
It makes me think of Longfellow's Bain in Summer; 
" How beautiful is the rain, after the dust and heat," 
etc. I cannot get my mind into anything more pro- 



1864 and 1865. 135 

found than poetry, though if I had Prescott here I think 
I should enjoy it. I hope thee is writing to me to-day, 
for I fancy it is too wet for yon to get out to Woolton, 
so I shall look for a letter certainly. If thee sees Lucy 
tell her I hope " conviction darted on her mind" to- 
day in regard to destroying letters, and in all the quiet 
of this rainy Sabbath she might do what she could 
towards repentance. If I do not get a letter from her 
soon I shall write to Lilly Eichardson instead, and see 
if she will not treat me better. . . . 

Millbourne, September 10th, 1S84. 

Those rainy days Bary and I read Lyman Beecher, 
but thee has no idea how immensely disgusted I became 
with uncharitable Christianity. It is delightful read- 
ing, especially H. B. Stowe's Eeminiscences, but old 
Lyman is a bigot of the blackest dye, and I believe he 
would willingly class all Unitarians with murderers, 
thieves and convicts of the worst description. I suppose 
he is like Uncle A., who would rather his children went 
to any church, in Christendom "than to the Unitarian, 
and George Penn says he would have much more satis- 
faction in his children being at the theatre than at Fur- 
ness's church, or indeed any other where Unitarian doc- 
trines are promulgated. Such unchristian Christianity! 
as though everybody's opinion was not worthy of con- 
sideration. . . . 

Millbourne, October 19th, 1864. 

My peculiar girl is in great distress because she has 
commissioned a friend of hers to go to thee for three 
dollars which she was to give to thee the night of the 
Penn Parlor, but in the crowd she could not distinguish 
thee, and I forgot all about it. She was going to send 
it in a letter, but having been very unfortunate myself 
in that way, I advised her to give it to thee when thee 



136 THE STOSY OF A LIFE. 

came, and write to that effect. She was sure she would 
know thee, but it is not strange she should be deceived, 
when I was questioned in the course of the evening if 
thee was a niece of mine. Pshaw! does thee think I am 
going to have thee putting on youthful airs and charms 
just to make me more antiquated? Well, I want thee 
to pay the three dollars when called for, and I will 
settle with thee when I see thee, if I know thee in thy 
youth and beauty. Does thee not think we had a real 
good time the other night, and did thee not feel in the 
marrow of thy bones how proud I was of Fin and all the 
rest of my own family? Without any flattery I think I 
have the very nicest brothers and sisters the world can 
produce, and thee may know John and Carrie are my 
continued delight when I feel their kind attention con- 
stantly, especially when I have company. It makes no 
difference who it is, I am always sure they will pay them 
the nicest kind of attention, as long as they stay here. 
A signal proof of this was given yesterday, when they 
came up about five o'clock and took us a splendid ride; 
drove Jenny and May together, which was a delight to 
John, who has been wanting to try them for some time. 
We rode up to Newtown Square, where we took 
tea in true country tavern style, and then drove 
over to call on Eachel Smith, whom we found 
very agreeable, and as perfect a lady in her 
own house as ever I saw. Brother Joe was out, 
but I know he is plunged in despair this morning 
on account of it, and I tell Lucy he will come flying 
down instanter. Fortunately for my peace of mind 
Aunt Hannah was here, and kept Father company in 
our absence; and I really think she is happier here than 
anywhere else. . . . She is going in town this morning, 
but I have persuaded her to return, and as she is deeply 
interested in "David Copperfield*' she is not hard to per- 
suade. Lucy began to read it to her the other night, 



1864 and 1365. 13? 

and she was absorbed at once, and now picks up the 
book whenever Lncy lays it down. . . . 

This is such splendid weather for riding on horse- 
back that I keep continually wishing for another horse, 
so Lucy and I might ride together. Doesn't Eli know of 
a hackney that wants country air for a few weeks? 
Lucy rode down to see Alice yesterday morning on 
horseback, and said it was splendid. We are having a 
real good time together, and I am getting spoiled for 
solitude as fast as possible. Have had no time to think 
about house affairs or myself either, each day bringing 
fullest occupation of its own, and very pleasantly passes 
away. . . . 

Wilmington, December 2d, 1864. 

Yesterday morning I spent with Saide, and when I 
finish this note will go around there again. Helen has 
gone to school, and I must say I think she is a very 
smart little girl, and most persevering in her attention 
to her lessons; am only afraid she will get on too fast 
for her years and strength. Chellie is as sweet and good 
as she can be, though her first performance after thee 
left was to pour the coal oil over the back porch and 
industriously polish it with the broom, which she said 
was to make a pretty shine. She talks about Mamma 
a great deal, and tells me a dozen times a day that her 
" Mamma is coming pretty soon/' If thee is not thor- 
oughly and entirely satisfied with such children, thee 
does not deserve to have any, for I think they are un- 
commonly attractive and remarkably good, considering 
their parentage. 

It is Lucy's constant wonder and admiration to see 
their obedience and affection towards Aunt Pattie, but 
I hold them with a double cord, don't I, Fin? They feel 
as near to me as children could even born of my flesh, 
though thee will not believe that of course. . . ..I 



138 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

almost broke Helen's heart last night by going with 
Lucy to tea, on account of having it early to go to lec- 
ture; but she was pacified and entirely satisfied before I 
left, else I never could have gone. She has the most 
affectionate nature, and I do not want thee to speak so 
impatiently to her/ for she never needs it, and as she 
thinks thee is perfection, do not disappoint her; for thee 
knows that is our pride and pleasure to know that the 
more we study our Mother's character the more spotless 
it becomes. . . . 

Millbourne, February 1st, 1865. 

It must have been thy fresh spirit, dear Fin, which 
did me such good, that everything looked brighter after 
thee had been here. 

That day I left thee at Sister Mary's, I was on the 
brink of Despond, and came home feeling that there 
was nothing to lift me up ; but I am sure thee left a por- 
tion of thy mantle, which I was fortunate enough to 
catch when I entered the doors, for there was a mar- 
velous change in the appearauce of things, or more 
likely in my own spirit. The old cook had the kitchen 
looking snug and comfortable, and smiled benignly at 
me as I entered. Flora did not look quite so promising 
as in the morning, and I inwardly resolved not to trouble 
myself about it until further development. Then next 
day I flung dull care to the winds, and went with Car- 
rie to the grand matinee, or whatever you call it, at the 
Academy of Music, where we found a perfect jam, and 
only standing room, though we had " reserved seats "; 
but they were reserved from us entirely! The play was 
good, and well sustained, the comedy worthless, and the 
singing only tolerable. Father came down for me be- 
fore tea, and I returned to spend the evening alone, and 
wish for a change in the kitchen more than ever. How- 
ever, next morning I went off again, quite regardless of 



1864 and 1865. 139 

all domestic difficulties; went with Carrie and the chil- 
dren to the Park, where I skated all morning with 
Charlie Wharton, I thought, but just as we were coming 
off the ice T found it was Joseph, a man I had never seen 
before; but as he made himself very agreeable and use- 
ful, I told him he did just as well as if it were his 
brother, with whom I had some acquaintance. In try- 
ing to avoid imposing on good nature I left him at 
various times, but he invariably returned, and assured 
me we were in the same boat as to skating, and the Bible 
taught us to " bear one another's burdens," so we skated 
most vigorously until I was quite tired. Then I came 
home from John's before night with Anna Bancroft, 
who spent First-day with me. We read "Kitty Trevely an" 
that evening, which thee must be sure to get; there are 
so many sweet little touches in it of natural feeling, and 
it will fill thee with shame as it did me to think oui 
minds are filled with matters of trifling import, forget- 
ful of the one thing needful. Next morning Anna and 
I went skating on the mill race at the foot of the lawn; 
had the company of some boys and a few soldiers. One 
of these last, a very expert skater, officiated as teacher to 
me in going backward, and seemed to think he was per- 
sonally responsible for my success or defeat in the un- 
dertaking. In the afternoon we went again with John 
and Carrie and their children; met Sellers Pennock, also 
the " bold soldier boy " again, who, to Anna's infinite 
amusement, immediately offered to assist me. We had 
a great deal of fun, and with great danger to life and 
limb I succeeded in going backwards a little. Next 
morning we made another effort alone, but were soon 
joined by the soldier! who told me not to be afraid, he 
would bear my heft I 

In all this outdoor amusement I forgot domestic 
affairs, and in the meantime the kitchen was dirty, the 
cook was irregular, and Flora grew immensely I Not 



140 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

daunted, however, after Anna's departure, on Second- 
day I went for Alice, who promised to bear me com- 
pany in Father's absence. She gave me no time to think 
of my domestic concerns, and I coolly ignored the whole 
matter, and read aloud to her just as though everything 
were in apple pie order throughout the house; — took 
her to school next morning, returning wrote up my 
accounts and some letters, darned the stockings, and 
went for her again before night. Then we passed that 
evening much as we did the other. I read aloud in the 
February number of the Atlantic, and if thee has not 
read the " Chimney Corner " do so, and see how many 
" little foxes " thee has concealed in thy household. I 
felt as if mine were infested. 

Just as I was about to finish off my epistle and sign 
myself in all affection thy sister, the old cook appeared 
at the door bearing thy letter in her hand, which I im- 
mediately devoured, and thanked thee again and again 
for the kind remembrance, and thy many thoughts 
given me when thee was so full of other occupation. 
What a terrible tempest in a teapot you have had! I 
know too well the luxury of rest after such a fatiguing 
round of company and excitement. . . . Father has just 
now returned from Wilmington, and in his lame fashion 
has given me some account of you all, but it is torment 
to me to listen, when I have to pound everything out 
of him. When he asked me what I had been doing in 
his absence, there was a great deal more to tell, though 
I was without any incidents to relate, than he found 
with his various adventures and changes of place. 

1 was just about to write to thee yesterday morning 
when a man was ushered into the parlor, carpet-bag in 
hand, which he slung on the sofa in quite an easy, off- 
hand fashion, introduced himself as John Thomas, who 
" served my time with thy Father, and had my skull 
cracked at your mill!" He gave me a full account of his 



1864 and 1865. 141 

life from boyhood up; told me he "bought a mill at 
Kemberton in 1830, married there, and had five chil- 
dren, three of them living. The oldest married a young 
miller, who boarded with us; she lives in town now, 
and has three children. My second daughter teaches 
school near Norristown; and my youngest is about 
twenty-three, she lives at home. Brother Lewis Thomas 
has a farm close by, and Sister Jane lives with him. 
Thee remembers Sister Jane, don't thee? She used to 
go about tailoring," etc., etc., etc., until I felt fully 
posted up in the Thomas family, and at his request gave 
him some account of the Sellers family. He was de- 
lighted to hear thee had married Thomas Garrett's son, 
and asked if my other sister was as well married! asked 
how many children you all had, and I counted them all 
off from the beginning to the end; much to his satisfac- 
tion. He gave me a full account of his visits in the 
neighborhood; told me he thought Pattie Humphries 
was not as much changed as he expected; " though to be 
sure she was thinner, but then it is forty years since I 
saw her!" which / thought might- justify a little loss of 
flesh. He told me he would have been here the night 
before, but Sammy Leedom would not let him off, and 
he " had a very pleasant visit with Sammy; he brought 
me down in a two-horse wagon, and left me at the gate; 
and I want thee to tell thy Father that I live now in New 
Garden, my wife and youngest daughter with me, and 
am pretty comfortable." All this, and much more which 
is not of vital interest to thee, but served to put me 
into a new train of thought, and gave me something to 
tell Alice when she came up. She said she would have 
given the world if Saide had been here, for I believe 
they are rivals in their appreciation of a certain kind of 
fun. . . . 



112 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Millbourne, May 16th, 1865. 

Having arrived safely at home, dear Fin, with my 
precious cargo, I feel as if my first duty was to inform 
you of the welfare and enjoyment of your children. It 
was really laughable to see the importance of the expe- 
dition yesterday; Herbert consulted me gravely on the 
subject of fishing, and said they thought of going to 
the store the first thing in the morning to get their ap- 
paratus. He thought it probable some shad might be 
caught in the deep places of the creek, and consulted 
me as to the "best way of hauling a big fellow in." All 
the way up in the cars fresh ideas and plans of enjoy- 
ment seemed to occur to them, and they would put their 
heads together in most solemn and mysterious consulta- 
tion, and count over their money again and again. I 
noticed that their ideas were not at all bounded by their 
ability to "pay as you go," but that is a common fail- 
ing. Herbert's purse was rather large for his pocket, 
and his money rather small for his purse, but there 
seemed to exist a certain harmony to him, and they 
found they had each of them twenty-five cents, which 
would certainly " buy a good many fire crackers and a 
fishing line apiece." The most terrific screaming is now 
taking place over this display of fire-arms, which were 
purchased immediately after breakfast, and as they were 
up and dressed before five, they had time to see every- 
thing in and about the premises before the rest of the 
family were astir. . . . Last night at supper they sud- 
denly became convulsed with laughter about " some- 
thing Aunt Pattie had forgotten," and I guessed every- 
thing, and racked my brain for their benefit and in- 
finite amusement, but they would not tell me until they 
were done, and then a perfect scream announced that I 
told them I would send them to bed without any sup- 
pers, at which I expressed a great deal of regret that it 
should have escaped my memory, but promised to give 



1864 and 1865. 143 

them each, a whipping before I put them to bed. I was 
afraid that Herbert would have a tinge of homesickness 
at night, but not a shadow of it was evident, and they 
certainly are as good and happy as they can be. I have 
scarcely seen them this morning, but I hear them con- 
tinually, and if shouts of laughter are indicative of en- 
joyment, they certainly are as happy as possible. They 
gave me their bundles at the gate last night, and rushed 
in pell-mell to see their garden, which needed their im- 
mediate care. 1 was glad they did not call upon me for 
entertainment, as I felt both tired and dispirited, and 
lay on the bed until supper, which we do not have until 
quite late during Yearly Meeting. .... 

I called at Sister Mary's and stayed talking to her 
for an hour, thinking the sun was so warm to walk in; 
and left our baggage for Father to bring out, which he 
did with Helen's carpet-bag, which came all right soon 
after we left. We got to the five-and-a-half-o'clock car, 
and had a lovely walk across in the very pleasantest time 
possible. 

My domestic concerns I did not find entirely satis- 
factory, but have no time to tell thee about them now, 
only want to exhort thee to hurry up and get through 
that business while Helen is here, when I will bring her 
down and make an exchange of the children. As I can- 
not help thee " born " them, I am willing at all times 
to give thee a helping hand in taking care of them. I 
write very hurriedly, just ready to start to town, where 
I have some imperative business; so, Fin, take all the 
love thee can get from this letter, and share it with Sary, 
for whom it is equally intended. Write soon, somebody. 



CHAPTER IX. 

1869 and 1870. 

Sometime previous to these letters — and I cannot 
now recall the year — Maple Cottage, on the estate of the 
Bird Asylum, and immediately opposite the Millbourne 
house, was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Patterson and 
their two daughters, Annie and Eose. They were 
bright, cultured girls, and added much to Pattie's hap- 
piness, and incidentally to that of her family; because 
we, who had realized Pattie's loneliness, were comforted 
with the thought that now she could enjoy daily com- 
panionship. They had pleasant friends, who became 
Pattie's friends as well; and Father, who dearly loved 
young people, was delighted to have them so near, both 
for Pattie's sake and his own. Miss Rose, especially, 
was Pattie's darling, and at the same time a great 
anxiety to her ; for she early developed symptoms of con- 
sumption, of which she died in the spring of 1871. 
Any suffering appealed to Pattie's sympathy, and she 
gave to this young girl such devotion and untiring love 
as only she could give. She often spoke of Roe (as we 
called her) as " My child." 

Millbourne, February 4th, 1869. 
When thy letter came, dear Fin, I must have been 
the exact picture of Susan Griffith, for I raised up my 
eyes almost into the roots of my hair in astonishment, 
and whenever I think of it the wonder increases, and 
makes me have the same surprised look. 1 hope thee 
will not consider the long silence a proof of my in- 
gratitude, for not a day has passed without thought of 
thee, and a determination to show thee how glad I was 
to be remembered. Then the other day Father received 



1869 and 1870. 145 

a pretty little book marker from Helen, which pleased 
him very much, and made us all think again of your 
happy household, and wish to know still more of your 
doings; and, to heap the last feather upon my bur- 
dened conscience, a long letter for Sister Mary made me 
almost believe thee had been suddenly bereft of thy 
senses! Such a thing is without precedent for many a 
long year, — thy deliberately seating thyself with the 
intention of writing twice in as many weeks. Now my 
writing days, I verily believe, are almost over, it has 
grown such a trouble to me to correspond with anyone; 
but having finally determined that ideas are not neces- 
sary to an agreeable letter, so there is plenty of feeling 
in it, I dash off the uppermost thought, be it what it 
may, and willingly throw myself on the mercy of the 
reader. In this instance I am obliged to confess, in the 
first place, that " my back is so bad and my legs are so 
queer" I feel much more like going to bed than any- 
thing else; but Sister Mary is my evil genius, sewing 
most industriously at my side, and reproaching me with 
the reflection that she has never had an idle minute 
since she has been here, and for the last three days has 
scarcely raised her eyes from her work. She made me 
too mad this afternoon, for when I came home from 
Philadelphia, after being away only a couple of hours 
or so, she had " pulled off her coat and rolled up her 
sleeves " to sweep the two third-story rooms, just as 
though her high talents might not be better directed. I 
could have shaken her, but she looked so very innocent 
and harmless that I hardly knew what to say, and 
finally resolved to say nothing. Something like thee, in 
the letter written to her; bringing us up into the highest 
pitch of expectation, thinking thee was about to explain 
an abstruse question, thee suddenly concluded thee was 
beyond thy depth, and let us down in the most hopeless 
manner, and we do not know any more than before. It 



146 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

is my belief Sister Mary is pretty clever, and she knows 
it; so she can afford to listen calmly to all complaints 
of her conduct, knowing at the bottom of all things she 
will be found to be of the true coin. . . . Anna is in 
town staying with Naomi Walter, and Bessie is in the 
arms of some of the Parrish family. To-morrow Sis 
goes down to the house to turn up Jack there, and stop 
her everlasting stitch, stitch, stitch, which would wear 
away anybody's life. 

Steve flourishes now and then of course, and thinks 
it seems a great deal nearer to have Bessie here than at 
Wilmington, though why I cannot imagine, as he has 
to plough through the mud indefinitely when he wants 
to see her, and I should think it might quench his 
ardor. In my youthful days the beaux came hovering 
around at all hours of the day and night, so that I am 
quite used to their ways; but inasmuch as I was not the 
real attraction I may be supposed to have acquired a 
tolerably correct outside opinion of courtship in all its 
phases. Now with this sage experience, I am inclined 
to believe Steve is in dead earnest, and is going to be 
married, immediately if not sooner. Bessie is sewing 
with might and main, and I wonder if I could go into 
such disagreeable work in such good earnest if I had 
such a reward ahead. I am like Mary Anne Douns, who 
was all ready with clothes and " fixins " when she was 
at school, as her mother was quite determined not to be 
hurried over her sewing. Poor thing, she got into the 
papers twice: once when she was married and once when 
she died. I never learned the fate of her sheets and 
table-linen, much less of her night dresses, etc., etc., but 
no doubt they are helping to fit out somebody else's 
daughter as the second wife, and I am very sure mine 
will never do that. I have become fired with enthusi- 
asm in seeing Bessie sew, and I am determined to turn 
my attention to some things fully as necessary to the 



1869 and 1870. 147 

single state as to the matrimonial walks of life. Girls 
always notice new " fixins " a great deal more than men, 
so I gness mine will be the most worth putting finery 
npon. . . . 

Eli gave us a little call the day of Isaac Garrett's 
funeral, and paid his respects to Miss Fannie Carnes on 
the way. She thinks he is splendid, and in a letter 
written to me from New York she desires to be remem- 
bered to " all those elegant brothers and sisters " of 
mine, sending a particular message to Eli, which would 
lose the point in writing, without an explanation. We 
all miss her very much since she left, and Maple Cot- 
tage seems quiet in contrast. She was a funny mixture, 
and I often wonder what the future will bring her. . . . 

Millbourne, July 2d, 1869. 
This letter has been put off hoping I would not have 
to write it; but now I may say that my getting down to- 
morrow seems very improbable. It is a real disappoint- 
ment to me for every reason, and most especially for 
the detaining cause. The next day after you were up 
Eoe was taken suddenly worse, and ever since has been 
extremely weak and miserable. I am sure it cannot last 
this way much longer, — from morning until night 
coughing or else sick at the stomach, — and the neces- 
sary effort for both makes her so debilitated that we can- 
not but feel very anxious indeed. I know you will vote 
her a great bore for interfering with my visit, but one 
cannot nurse a person as long as I have her without 
feeling a heavy sense of responsibility, and a weight of 
anxiety when she grows rapidly worse, which precludes 
the possibility of taking pleasure away from these cares. 
It seems to me very much like the care of a dependent 
little child, and you all know that cannot be thrown 
aside at will. She is hoping very much to be enough 
better to set my mind at ease about leaving her, but I 



148 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

had a very vivid dream night before last which compels 
me to think I must watch her very closely just now, 
especially as I was over and over again adjured " not 
to go to Wilmington " ! Thee knows what sort of super- 
stition I have, and thee knows my dreams are often very 
singular. So it was in this instance. I cannot forget it; 
but unless I have a different intimation, will attend to 
this. I am particularly disappointed, because the 
weather is so cool and nice for a visit, and I thought it 
would be pleasant to go to the picnic with you; but still 
I cannot get my own consent, and so I know I could not 
enjoy it under the circumstances. . . . 

Now remember, I shall look for the children next 
Fourth-day morning, and hope they will have a real 
good time while they are here. It does me good to see 
other people enjoy themselves even if I cannot myself, 
and I often think with Glory McWhirk " there are lots 
of good times, only I'm not in 'em." I hope you will 
not be half as much disappointed about my visit as I am, 
for it makes me feel quite out of heart altogether; but 
still there is a sustaining sense of doing right which I 
would not have if I went, and so will try to think it is 
best. Love to all the family, and think of me at the 
picnic, for I think it would be nice to have such a peep 
outside. 

Write me certainly about the children, and remem- 
ber I expect Herbert too. 

Millbourne, July 17th, 3869. 
After reading Helen's letter, dear Fin, I am afraid 
thee thinks I am very particular about having their 
visit prolonged, and because I invited them for two 
weeks thee is disposed to stick to the letter of the invi- 
tation. It is such dreadfully hot weather that it seems 
a great shame to coop them up in town, and I am very 
glad they should get their recreation here, so do not feel 



1869 and 1870. 149 

it obligatory upon thee to send for them to come home. 
I write this not knowing what their sentiments may be 
on the subject, or if they wish to prolong their stay, but 
to signify my more than willingness to have them. 
Helen and Chellie are as happy as the day is long, it 
seems to me, and are just as good as children can be. 
I am disposed to think they are something unusual, and 
certainly it is a great pleasure to have them. We drove 
over to Germantown on Tuesday, and the girls went to 
town to do some important errands, then to spend the 
day at John's, with the expectation of coming home 
with Mr. Patterson in the evening, and to stay there all 
night. If it rained, I gave them particular instructions 
to go up to Sister Mary's for I was afraid they might 
be in the way at John's. However, it was deemed best 
they should stay there, and Carrie sent them out next 
morning. In the meantime Herbert arrived and found 
nobody here. Mrs. Patterson sent for him to stay there 
all night, and as the rain detained us another night in 
Germantown, all three of the children stayed there 
again. When we got home about seven o'clock, we 
found the children as happy as possible, and delighted 
to see us. We had a real nice visit in Germantown, at 
Mr. SchafTer's, a German family, and quite literary; had 
a feast of music, and all the books we wanted to bring 
home with us. The best of all, however, was the visible 
improvement to Roe. We dropped all medicines and 
tortured her no more with cod liver oil, and her stomach 
regained its strength considerably, and she thoroughly 
enjoyed it. The doctors insist on cod liver oil, but I am 
convinced it does not suit her, and she will die of sick 
stomach sooner than she will of consumption. Her days 
cannot be very much prolonged, and I think she ought 
to have them as comfortable as possible. She is dread- 
fully nervous about going away from home, but feels 
very much encouraged by this trip. Yesterday Allie 



150 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

and Bessie Powell were here, and all had a good time, 
but I thought it was rather a relief to our children 
when their carriage arrived for them. There was a gen- 
eral excitement and enjoyment in it, not entirely con- 
sistent with any pain in parting. Children are such 
funny things; they all seemed to prefer our company 
to each other's, and yet continually said they were hav- 
ing a nice time. I want thee to extend the prolonged 
invitation for Herbert, too, if he would like to stay. He 
is very good and happy, but it is surprising to me that 
such an orderly and proper individual as our Sary could 
have had the bringing up of such a destructive, disor- 
derly animal as he is. I find his things in every direc- 
tion, and when I got home on Third-day was attracted 
by a nastjr smell to his room, where I found his bathing 
clothes in a wet wad on the floor, and a general display 
of other garments on top of them. I only tell this to 
show how impossible it is for him to be the son of Sary, 
who used to be our model. But then " boys is boys "; 
and don't thee dare to let Francis get into such habits; 
it will be such a trouble to his wife! Herbert is very 
obedient and good, and I think is enjoying himself; and 
I like to have my sister's children, and know them as 
they grow older. 

This letter was written at break of day out on the 
porch, hoping to get a breath of air. It is truly sicken- 
ing weather, and I can imagine nothing pleasanter than 
a cool blast from somewhere, but unfortunately it does 
not come. I hope Alice is satisfied now with hot 
weather; she said sometime since that people could not 
frighten her with hell fire; all she was afraid was that 
she might get to a place where there would not be any. 
It is time this letter was finished. I have to go to West 
Philadelphia to market, so good-bye. . . . 

My little visit will not come off very soon, and I 
guess I will put it off indefinitely, hoping to see you all 



1869 and 1870. 151 

at Millbourne. Tell Sary I invite her now because I 
want her, not out of compassion; for anybody that can 
have a party in hot weather has more life and energy 
than I have. It seems to me parties are out of my line 
of life altogether and forever. Kiss the dear little boy 
for me, and write me if he is better. 

Millbourne, August 22d, 1869. 

Thy letter for the children arrived yesterday in their 
absence, as it was the day of the Sunday-school celebra- 
tion, which was held in the woods above the toll-gate. 
I spent the day in great sympathy of mind for the poor 
unfortunates condemned to be out in such heat, but at 
five o'clock when we went up for them we found they 
had had a most magnificent time, absolutely making 
them forget the heat, while we at home never could 
think of anything else the whole day long. Oh, did thee 
ever feel a hotter night than last night? I felt like 
some hunted animal, driven about from place to place, 
and nowhere able to get any refreshment of air. The 
relief this morning was infinite; to have an east wind; 
but it is hot enough still to make one desperate when 
out of the air. I have been enjoying the books thee 
sent me by Father, and one of which I am going to lend 
across the way, where I think it is particularly needed, 
— " Come and See," by Peabody. I am delighted with 
it, and can go to the fullest extent of its doctrines. . . . 

Sometimes I think I do not know anything, but it 
is a relief to me always when I find somebody who ex- 
presses what I .feel. Thee cannot think how many times 
I wish I could have the privilege of going to church 
every Sunday where I could hear something else than 
the set forms of the Episcopal service, and the miserable 
trashy sermons preached by Dr. C. I have kept church 
at home all this summer, and feel quite as well satisfied 
as if I had gone there; rather better, I believe, for to me 



152 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

it is mockery. The children have just come home from 
Sunday-school with Annie and the children across the 
way. Both are absorbed in books taken from the Sun- 
day-school library, and nothing can arouse them until 
they are devoured. It is wonderful to see how fond they 
both are of reading, and I am so glad, for it is such a 
comfort to look back upon, that such enjoyment was 
ever ours; for my reading days are over now, and my 
dreaming days still remain, which is very unprofit- 
able. . . . 

Millboume, December 9th, 1869. 

It is generally considered the polite thing, I believe, 
to write after a visit, thereby showing a fuller apprecia- 
tion of the attentions bestowed by the hostess. In this 
instance I must include the host, for Eli is always kind- 
ness itself to me, and makes me glad and thankful many 
a time that he beguiled thee from all thy wayward 
fancies in thy youth to make thee so happy now. I saw 
one of thy old beaux at the depot, and I recalled the 
days of watered chocolate with inward amusement. I 
do not think he would have been half so nice a brother 
as Eli, but thee knows best as to his attractions, and can 
make a favorable comparison, knowing both. . . . 

When I came home I found a most joyful welcome 
awaiting me, and I am quite convinced I was rightly led 
not to prolong my visit. Eoe was over the worst part of 
her sickness, but had been a prisoner all the time I was 
away, and whenever I go away from home it is with the 
feeling that she loses the opportunity of fresh air, or any 
variety, since she is necessarily confined to the house. 
We took a ride yesterday afternoon and one this morn- 
ing, but to-day May-Day made frantic efforts to fall 
down, which did not add to the enjoyment of the ride. 
She has since been made rougher, which will make her 
more comfortable, as well as ourselves. . . . 




M . 8 . — 1 8 7 



1869 and 1870. 153 

The great desire of her life at this time was to have 
a horse of her own, as she was very fond of driving, and 
she had anticipated with Father's help to have the abil- 
ity to buy one. The standard of values had so dimin- 
ished since the war that people living upon their in- 
comes felt the change greatly. Although Father owned 
considerable property in land, yet he had not as much 
ready money as formerly, and with the innumerable ex- 
penses consequent upon the care of a large house and 
grounds, he felt the necessity for economy, and could 
not do all he would have loved to do for Pattie. The 
letters written from January 11th to February 17th will 
explain the disappointment, and also her generous na- 
ture. 

Millbourne, January 11th, 1870. 

Thy letter reached me yesterday, and I hasten to 
reply so Eli may not put himself to inconvenience about 
the horse. It seems best for me to give up the idea of 
having him at all this winter, for although Father was 
very much in the notion of having him a few weeks ago, 
he now thinks we can do very well without, and it is 
quite an unnecessary expense. He has his ups and 
downs like everybody else, and just now at the first of 
the year it is decidedly a down. I cannot help regret- 
ting the horse, but I am quite convinced it would be un- 
wise in me to urge it at this time. If we ever have any 
ups, I hope it may bring me a horse of my own; and I 
have commissioned Eli to be on the lookout for me, as 
I think Father in some moods would be very willing to 
buy, but it is quite necessary with him to strike while 
the iron is hot, as his prevailing idea always is to " let 
well enough alone." I always begin the New Year with 
manifold resolutions as to expenses; that I will be dread- 
fully economical, and see into the minuteness of every 
dollar; but like all other resolutions it melts into thin 
air as time goes on, and my natural habits prevail. 



154 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

We have made one very desirable change in our sta- 
ble arrangements in parting with Henderson and hiring 
Montgomery. So far, I like him very much. I think 
he will make quite a valuable hand at the stable. He is 
quite a good driver for a single team, and seems quite 
at his ease with horses generally. I have undertaken to 
teach him to read in the evenings, and he is deeply in- 
terested, but his imagination works marvelous changes 
in the construction of the words, and I cannot help but 
laugh at his guesses after he gets the idea of a sen- 
tence. 

Lizzie Eiggins has been here for the past three 
weeks, recruiting after a severe spell of sickness, so the 
kitchen department is full to overflowing, and it seems 
to me now is the time for the parlor to be fuller than 
it is. One day goes by very much like the other, and 
nothing very stirring occurs, but thee knows I am used 
to a settled-down sort of a life, and would hardly know 
how to get along with it differently. As Eli says most 
truly, everybody has his trials and vexations, in what- 
ever situation of life he may be placed; and it is pretty 
evenly balanced all round. You that have families of 
young folks are continually anxious and worried about 
them, and have a thousand cares I know nothing about. 

Millbourne, February 7th, 1870. 
My mind has been greatly exercised about Helen's 
French since thee was here, and last night I lay awake 
and devised a plan which I hope thee will accede to. 
To begin at the beginning, I must first make known 
that I have been saving up my pennies for a long while, 
hoping to buy a horse, and the time seemed approach- 
ing this spring, as Father was pledged to contribute, 
and I thought it likely we could make it out between 
us, so the wish of my heart might be accomplished. 
Within the past week, however, it is made abundantly 



1869 and 1870. 155 

evident that Father must of necessity withhold his sub- 
scription, so the money I have is of no practical use to 
me. All my other wants are supplied, and it would 
greatly alleviate my disappointment if you would en- 
gage the teacher for Helen immediately, and let me 
feel as if it were doing some good, and that I could be 
of use to somebody. Now, Fin, thee will not be too 
proud to accept this from me; it will hurt me exceed- 
ingly if thee refuses. Now is the time for Helen to 
study French, and everybody knows Eli would gladly 
let her have all opportunities for improvement if he 
thought it prudent. He has already done far more for 
me than I can ever repay, and it would gratify me ex- 
ceedingly to do this little thing for him or for thee, or 
for Helen, whichever way you choose to put it. You 
need not feel worried about taking it from Father, as 
this money never belonged to him; part of it was given 
to me and part of it I earned myself, and all my sur- 
plus has been dedicated to the purchase of a horse, 
which it is not worth while saving for now; and it would 
be the greatest comfort in the world if you would accept 
it for Helen's French, remembering she is partly my 
child as well as yours. I would enclose the money now, 
but am afraid it might be lost on the way, and not ful- 
fil its object; but I want thee to write to me immedi- 
ately, and tell me you are willing to comply with my 
wishes. You could not show your affection and confi- 
dence in any way so strongly, and my heart is set upon 
it. 

I write hurriedly, but have given the subject serious 
consideration, and if you are willing to gratify me, I am 
sure it will be a help to all of us, most of all to me. . . . 

Millbourae, February 11th, 1870. 
Oh, Fin, thy letter does not satisfy me at. all, for 
various reasons. In the first place, thee does not com- 



156 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

ply with my request, and then thee gives me credit for 
what I do not deserve. Now I want thee to clearly un- 
derstand that I am not in the least self-sacrificing, for 
if there were any prospect of my being able to purchase 
a horse in any reasonable time, I should probably never 
have thought of giving up that wish of my heart for 
Helen's opportunities in French. I offered to yield to 
the inevitable, and nothing more; but I should have 
been worse than a heathen and the most ungrateful 
wretch in the world if I would not most gladly afford a 
pleasure to her, when it deprived me of none, but 
greatly added to my stock of happiness, and increased 
hers as well. 

I like appreciation, but feel humbled to the dust 
with an over-estimate of my character. The truth is, if 
thee could go to the very bottom of things with me, thee 
would find selfishness reigning supreme, and this is only 
an instance of it. I give up the horse because it is out 
of the question for me to buy one, and I hate to be re- 
minded of my disappointment by having the little dribs 
I have collected forever staring me in the face in mock- 
ery. I want the money used for some good purpose, and 
I have some pride in Helen's attainments; and why 
should I not gratify myself in this matter? The obli- 
gation, if there is any, would be quite on my side, and 
it would give me a living interest, which would do me 
real good. Just take it into consideration, and do not 
think I am sacrificing myself, or anything of the sort. 
I give up nothing, and gain a great deal; so I think it 
is very selfish in thee to oppose thy will to mine. 

From thy own account of the matter, Mr. A. is not 
all thee could wish as a teacher, and why shouldn't thee 
have the best for Helen, who deserves the best? Now 
I leave this matter upon thy conscience, and think it 
will not let thee rest until thee yields to my suggestion; 



1869 and 1870. 157 

but if it does, I shall know immediately there is a field 
of labor for thee in thyself which neither Mr. H. nor 
the French professor can help to remove. A dead con- 
science is hard to touch, and is a poor guide for thee ! ! 

I attempted to get " Parables from Nature " for thee 
to-day, but Lippincotts are out of any copies, and they 
have to send to New York for them. 

I saw a bundle directed to thee on John's table, but 
I guess it will reach thee before I have an opportunity 
to enclose the book. 

Roe got zephyr for the little sacque thee wanted, to- 
day; a perfectly lovely pink, which will look sweet in a 
baby drawer. I never see these sweet little sacques 
without wishing I had a baby to put in them. 

If thee has opportunity, read " Stepping Heaven- 
ward," by Mrs. Prentiss. It is so natural and so en- 
couraging, and though thee may not like the doctrines 
set forth, yet I am sure there is a great deal in it to 
which thee will yield a hearty sympathy and approval. 
It is a little on the sunday-school order, but I think the 
gradual development of character portrayed is really 
wonderful. It is so hard to take it step by step, just as 
it is in real life; and she is so natural, it does me good. 
It is written in the form of a journal, beginning the day 
she is sixteen; going on through little and great trials 
into married life, when she finds they do not stop, but 
after awhile she recognizes the discipline of life, and it 
is always easier to bear our trials when we can do that 
and feel sure they are" meant as helps to us in our " step- 
pings heavenward." I have had real help from reading 
it, but it may be thee would not be in the mood for it. 

Love to Eli and the children, and be sure to recon- 
sider thy hasty decision. It would be a real gratification 
to me if thee could see with my eyes in this matter. 



158 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Melbourne, February 17th, 1870. 
Last Saturday I wrote to thee in answer to thine, 
and rushed with it, and one to Saide, out to the road to 
find a way for them to town. I stopped a man who 
looked as if he might be reliable, and asked him if he 
was going as far as the Post-Ofhce. He looked down 
the road into indefinite space, and said: "I am going 
as far as Philadelphia," as if that was the metropolis of 
the world, and he had made a journey out of the wilds 
of America. Then I said in the blandest way, " Could 
you put these letters in the office for me?" and he re- 
plied very coldly: " Yes, I can "; but did he? That is 
the question. You ought to have had them Saturday 
evening or at latest Sunday morning. A letter from 
Sary written on Monday makes no mention of its recep- 
tion, and I am persuaded this hateful creature has them 
in his pocket still, for he did not say " I will," only " I 
can " ! ISTow in this letter I saw only the importance of 
getting it to thee before the final decision on Helen's 
French was made. It is folly in thee to decline it, and 
a mere absurdity to count it a self-sacrifice of mine. If 
there was the least prospect of my getting a horse from 
my savings it would be different. I should probably 
never have thought of anybody else but myself, but I 
tell thee I yield to the inevitable, and wish very much 
for you to let me do some good with the before-men- 
tioned money. Now, Fin, do be reasonable; I want to 
do it, and it is a shame not to afford Helen, who is so 
good a student, the very best opportunities; and if there 
were no attractions of her own, her father and mother 
have claims upon me which I cannot count or estimate 
in value. . . . 

Millboume, February 22d, 1870. 
Why, Fin, thee must be simple; thee knows well 
enough if I do go to Wilmington I cannot always 
" put up " at your house, and this is Saide's turn. I 



1869 and 1870. 159 

expected to have gone down yesterday, and again to- 
day; but my throat is so painful I am afraid of cold 
rooms or fresh beds. I took cold the other day at the 
opera, and all my ailments are centered in my throat, 
which feels as if there were very little space left for my 
breathing. In case I stop altogether, you cannot ex- 
pect me; but otherwise it is probable I shall try to go 
down for a day or so. I am so afraid this cold weather 
will go by without our getting ice, that I am afraid to 
venture away, for Father needs " here a little and there 
a little, in season and out of season/' He has the most 
child-like trust in the future, and believes that every- 
thing will get done somehow; but privately I can assure 
thee it is a good deal of ding-donging on my part which 
accomplishes the necessary provision for the future; and 
always strikingly so in the matter of ice; — so thee sees 
I have two very good reasons for staying at home. 

I want to see you all, and am very anxious to know 
what thee can need my judgment upon. It may do for 
a form of speech to say " thy clearer judgment/' but I 
would not use that expression if .1 were thee; it makes 
me feel so simple, knowing the truth. However, it is 
sometimes a help to get a subject aired thoroughly, and 
even a most indifferent counselor is better than none, 
after you have twisted and distorted the thing under 
consideration by taking too much judgment into the 
case. I believe my surest convictions are inspirations; 
they come without any reasoning about them, and if I 
could doubt them, it would be by trying to analyze 
them. If we could live near the Light all the time, 
what better guide could we ask? 

I am so glad thee liked " Stepping Heavenward." I 
was delighted with it, and wanted everybody to read it. 
There is a fascination about it to me, for it is simple 
nature; and there are few persons of any seriousness 
who could not find a response to the prevailing tone of 



160 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

the book in their own lives. She seemed to be so un- 
conscious of growth, and yet what a beautiful develop- 
ment of Christian life she showed! . . . 

Millbourne, March 8th, 3870. 
. . . Thy husband looks elegant, but since I put 
him in the album by thy side he has a strong resem- 
blance to Bluebeard, for thee looks half frightened out 
of thy wits, and he has an air of authority, which is 
truly appalling. . . . 

Millboume, May 23d, 1870. 
Oh, Fin, thy nice long letter heaps coals of fire on 
my head for the scolding I sent yesterday about thee to 
Helen. If thee only knew how much good thy letters 
do me, thee would not be so chary of their comforting 
influence. It seems to me it must be a help to thee too, 
to write. I am sure they always read as if they were 
" from the fullness of the heart," and I know expression 
is good for us. I have a theory against repression, very 
strong indeed; for I know it has given me far more real 
trouble than any unfortunate bluntness. It is really 
better to say too much than too little, it seems to me; 
for the too much is generally genuine feeling, and the 
too little is, — we know not what. If I had children to 
bring up I should above all things cultivate expression. 
It gives a grace to life that nothing else can supply, and 
reserve brings with it such untold misery to everybody, 
especially to one's self. Now if thee had not expressed 
thyself so fully as to thy state of mind, I should not 
have had the hardihood to give thee a scolding, which 
I have meditated some time. Of course thee must im- 
mediately congratulate thyself upon thy frankness, since 
it leads to this desirable result; but, indeed, in all 
seriousness I have felt really concerned about thee for 
some time past. I think thee works much too hard, 
both in body and mind; a constant striving to keep 



1869 and 1870. 161 

things together, a general feeling that if thee gives out 
the whole family will undoubtedly go into chaos, and a 
state of being driven from one task to another, — these 
are really too much for any mortal to bear. Now, Fin, 
just stop a minute, and see where this pushing and rush- 
ing is all to end; surely there must be some better way, 
if thee could only find it out; and I cannot see thee kill- 
ing thyself in this way without an effort at least to find 
some remedy. I do not think I could do without thee, 
and I see no way in which thee could be well spared in 
any relation. Thee has a full life, and wherever thy in- 
fluence goes it becomes a very tangible thing, not easily 
given up; but an ever-increasing need. Now, Fin, thee 
must feel this, and know it is meant thee should " lift 
up the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees," but 
how can thee fulfill this mission if thee gives out thy 
strength recklessly upon inferior objects. Is it neces- 
sary thee should do so much sewing, and wear thy 
nervous system down to a thread which will snap im- 
patiently at the least strain? I am really concerned 
seriously about this matter, and it seems to me there is 
but one remedy, — cultivate a little simplicity. 

Melbourne, May 29th, 1870. 
... I could not go from home comfortably just now, 
as Eoe is not near so well. I was over there last night, 
and Annie and I were both up with her until after three 
o'clock. Her cough was constant, and strangling seemed 
inevitable, but she seems bright and cheerful as usual 
this morning, and accepts everything as just what she 
might expect, never making any complaint of any kind. 
Everybody has to have cares and anxieties, I suppose; 
so it is not worth while for thee to wish I had not taken 
this upon me. Independently of the affection in the 
connection, I find myself better off in many respects, 
for I have no time to think of myself, and cannot grow 



162 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

morbid over fancied trials. Life is very real to me, but 
1 do not live for myself as much as I used to do; indeed, 
I almost forget any personal longings in the one great 
desire to make life bright to this poor sick child. I 
nave had a real nice visit from A. L., and it only shows 
how all things are brought to a level in the view of 
Death. I do not think she is a scrap jealous any more; 
she sees just what our relations are, and knows that I 
take nothing from her in giving constant attention to 
Eoe. She sees a great change in the latter, both bodily 
and spiritually; and to me, who am so intimately asso- 
ciated with her, it is most evident that she is " stepping 
heavenward." We all have our trials, dear Fin, but if 
I had ever time to stop to think of mine in the future, I 
should be overwhelmed. I unburdened myself to Sister 
Mary the other day in regard to some, and she was so 
kind and sympathizing. I always am sure of thy feel- 
ing with me, but I think I am very apt to be betrayed 
into weakness in writing, and it is a most fortunate cir- 
cumstance for me that my time is fully and entirely 
occupied, for " I pity my own heart " too much. Al- 
though I think thee works much too hard, yet I am 
glad thee has full occupation, for it is a blessing un- 
doubtedly to be lifted out of ourselves. . . . John and 
Carrie have not arrived to-day; detained, no doubt, by 
the weather, and it seems very dismal without them. 
We always wander about expecting something to hap- 
pen, and there is nothing but dull uniformity. Father 
looks mopy, and Aunt Hannah dissatisfied, and I feel 
as if there were nothing nice in the world; — " my doll 
is stuffed with sawdust, and I want to be a nun!" Car- 
rie gives me a fresh feeling as if I were at last started 
all right again, and John is so reliable. I love them to 
the bottom of my heart. . . . 

It is a miserable sort of feeling to find one's own in- 
significance sometimes, and I had some reflections as I 



1869 and 1870. 163 

drove home alone that were not very enlivening, but 
on the whole profitable, I guess. I will not expect any- 
more, and " blessed are they who expect little." Oh, I 
so fully appreciate thy condition starving for a little 
praise, and yet when I am praised I always feel humil- 
iated; still I long to know that my efforts to do good 
are at least noticed. It is so hard to go on day after 
day with no dew of refreshment upon us; the dry, bar- 
ren path of duty is so tiresome unless some fresh flowers 
adorn it; and how can they flourish without the sweet 
influences of soft airs, and tender droppings of moisture, 
and gentle warmth of sunshine, all combined? We need 
all outside helps; we lean upon each other far more than 
we are ourselves aware, and we are commanded to " bear 
one another's burdens," although not only Scripture, 
but our own hearts teach that " every man shall bear 
his own burden." Still, it can be lightened, and it is 
often done so most unconsciously; so I think we do good 
many times to each other by simply following the sweet 
promptings of affection, even if the trouble is never 
brought into the light. I have a helpless feeling some- 
times, as if there were a general failure in everything, 
and nothing to depend upon, nothing being accom- 
plished; but still, 

" Behold, we know not anything; 
I can but trust that good shall fall 
At last, far off, at last to all, 
And every winter change to spring." 

It is getting so dark I can scarcely see to finish my 
letter, but it must be brought to an end with this sheet, 
for I never know when to stop. 

Write to me when thee can, and better still, come 
soon. 



164 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Millbourne, August 23d, 1870. 

It does not seem necessary to assure thee every time 
Helen's letters go, of thy children's welfare; but I do 
not like to see so much blank paper, so thee may get a 
compliment out of it after that if thee can. . . . Your 
letter gives a most inviting picture of your Cape May 
life, and I wish I could peep in upon you. Helen was 
charmed with thy letter, and when I read it I did not 
at all wonder. Oh, there is no love like a mother's, 
after all, and one never gets beyond childhood in the 
longing for it. Annie is a dear, good little thing, but 
each one of thy children has her own peculiar charms 
to me. 

Father would send his love, only he is too deep in 
writing specifications, etc., for the Lenni dam, which is 
the only thing he thinks of now. He said last night 
to me that it hardly seemed the right thing to charge 
the estate with every trip he was obliged to make to 
Lenni. Truly his simplicity is refreshing when peo- 
ple's consciences never take that turn. I suggested to 
him, as he gave the estate all his thoughts as well as 
all his time, there would be no impropriety in expecting 
a reasonable compensation. It occurred to me he had 
better at least make enough money to get another horse, 
as Eichard is finally laid on the shelf ready to be shot, 
and the men report May-Day nearly worn out in the 
service. He goes every day either to Philadelphia or 
Lenni, and makes things fly on the road to clear the 
way. Anybody might know he was settling somebody's 
estate, to see him drive about with such an important 
face. I tell him I wish he had his own estate to settle; 
he would have such a good time fixing up everything 
on it. We would stand some chance of improvements, 
and he would enjoy it so. He is rather amused with 
that way of putting it, " but does not see it." He misses 
his sons very much in the way of advice, he says, but is 



1869 and 1870. 165 

coming out triumphant with my counsels, as I know so 
much about business. All I contended for was that he 
should employ a reliable man to build the dam, instead 
of taking any responsibility himself. He thought it 
was too much money to pay, but finally was convinced 
that it might be money saved, and certainly better in 
every way for so old a man to let the care come on 
younger shoulders. 

Millbourne, November 23d, 1870. 

... It does me good to see you, and sometimes I 
feel as if I would outlive all your sympathies, so that 
when my charge is taken from me, I will stand " reaped 
and bare," nothing left! Oh, Fin, I shall never have a 
child to lose, but thee may comprehend the loss only 
by thinking of it in that light, as the long dependence 
makes me almost feel that even in Heaven she will need 
me, and the inexpressible longing to do something more 
is always upon me. We cannot be too thankful that 
she persevered in doing without morphia, for now she 
looks death in the face so calmly; and we know it is not 
a drugged calmness, but, as she s says, a heaven-born 
strength, that nothing can shake. She has the tender- 
est feelings for us all, and yet is willing to leave us, try- 
ing every day to make us feel that it is best. As her 
strength increases, mine absolutely gives out, and in 
this state of mind I am not good company for anybody; 
but I am always longing for sympathy. Saide's visit 
was just lovely, and gave me a lift, though I could be 
with her but little. ... 

Love to Eli and the children, and tell Helen she 
must not let me forget her. I think of her very often, 
and wonder whether she is still preparing for Vassar, 
and how she gets along. Thy children are very dear to 
me, far more so than thee knows or than I can show; 
but my sympathies, I trust, may never be needed by 
thee, as I call upon thine now. 



166 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

Millbourne, December 22d, 1870. 
... I was in Philadelphia a while yesterday morn- 
ing, but had to hurry so to get out at noon that I felt 
as if I had seen very little of Christmas. I was oppressed 
with a feeling that Dickens was dead, and would never 
more send us a " Christmas Carol." There is a sweet 
little picture at Earless that I wanted dreadfully, of a 
Christmas bell in the act of ringing, while little spirits 
climb into it and hover around it, and seem to make it 
a thing of reality. I stood and looked at it a good 
while, and felt as if I heard it ringing, as I said to 
myself: 

" Ring out the old, ring in the new; 
Ring, happy bells across the snow, 
The year is going, let him go. 
Ring out the false, ring in the true." 

It seemed so full of suggestion that I saw more of the 
spirit of Christmas in it than in anything else; but as I 
had nine dollars to spend on myself, I left it there to 
ring for somebody else. It is the hardest thing to go 
about the streets and see so many suggestions for your 
friends that you cannot put into practice; but if it is 
any comfort to thee to know that I filled up Helen's 
room with pictures and fancy " flxins," and got lots 
of books for Chellie, and all kinds of toys for Annie, and 
made thee happy with several beautiful chromos, thee 
may take what satisfaction there is in the thought. My 
spirit was willing, but my purse was — ! 

I suppose I ought to have taken some notice of thy 
suggestion last week about contributions for the 
" Lyceum," but it seemed so absurd to me that I really 
could not entertain it. Just to please thee I did com- 
mence an article, but it was so flat and insipid I thought 
I would not be beguiled by " flattering tongue " from 
my own convictions, which point to a strictly domestic 
sphere for me. What pleases thee and all the rest of you 



1869 and 1870. 167 

in my letters is their personality; take that away and I 
am nothing; so I could no more write for the " Sheaf " 
than I could stand up and deliver a lecture for the 
Lyceum. If thee will look hack at the past and study 
my prevailing characteristic, thee will find it consists 
in a close adherence to a few. The moment it becomes 
more than a few, my charm is gone, my light is 
quenched; so, my dear Fin, just let me keep the light I 
have in a small circle, for the moment I feel an au- 
dience, that moment I have stage-fright, and can do 
nothing. . . . 



CHAPTEE X. 

1871 and 1872. 

Millbourne, January 27th, 1871. 

I know thee will not think my absence at the funeral 
any mark of disrespect to the dear friend of the people 
whom we all loved, but I want thee to know it is quite 
a trial to me not to be able to see his face once more.* 
Situated as I am, however, it would be impossible to 
leave for an hour even. We are watching by Roe's bed- 
side under the belief that at any moment her spirit may 
take flight. She has changed very much this week. 
Death is stamped upon her countenance unmistakably, 
and we can only hope her sufferings will not be pro- 
longed. She was out riding on Sunday last, but to look 
at her now one could not realize it. . . . 

Her eyes follow me about, and she cannot spare me 
out of the room, she says, no matter how many may be 
in it. Although I give her up, it is like a part of my 
life torn away, as thee can well imagine, after two years 
of devoted nursing. It seems to me there will be noth- 
ing of interest left; but I trust these two years have not 
been entirely fruitless to me, and I know she has helped 
me into a deeper experience than ever I had before. We 
have learned together some lessons which weie hard 
for both. Saide offered to lend her a silk skirt, and 
although she will never wear it, I think she would like 
to see it. She has talked about it a good deal, and 
treasures every little attention with the most grateful 
feeling. Carrie has been too sweet in sending her flow- 
ers, which go right to her heart, and to mine too. In- 
deed, my heart overflows with gratitude to all who have 
shown her attention, and among them thee is often re- 

* Thomas Garrett died January 25th, 1871. 



1871 and 1872. 169 

membered. She was much interested to-day in hearing 
the account of Father Grarrett which Saide cut from the 
Commercial, and sent; and when I was done, said: " Oh, 
he was a dear old man. I loved him ever since I saw 
him at your house last summer, and he died just at the 
right time, didn't he?" I think she thought of seeing 
him again; but she really does not realize her situation 
now as she did a week ago. She seems to take things 
as they come, as if it were all as she expected; and she 
expresses no wonder that she is lying in bed instead of 
riding about. 

It is time I was going over again. I hardly dare 
stay any time, and live in terror of being sent for. 

Millboume, February 11th, 1871. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, has just arrived, and I can only 
say it is like thee. What more can I say as proof that it 
is fully appreciated, for I am sure nobody is more truly 
loved than thy own dear self. It now seems, however, 
as if I were set apart; — no longer in your midst, and 
of the circle, which should have no break to make it 
perfect.' There is an indescribable feeling of isolation 
from everybody, that I wish I could break through. 

By my letter to Sary thee will see how fully I appre- 
ciated thy coming up the other day, and I cannot thank 
thee in any other way than to say I felt it to the bottom 
of my heart. Thee must know I am disappointed in 
myself. I thought I was prepared for this affliction. 
All my most earnest wishes were for her release; and 
I can truly say that when her last breath was drawn I 
thanked God that it was over. I believed that I was 
entirely reconciled; I would not have kept her if I could. 
For months I have really longed for her release, and 
was sure there would be no repinings on my part when 
the time came for her to go. And I have none. I be- 
lieve most firmly that a good Providence overruled our 



170 THE STOBY OF A LIFE. 

tender friendship; that we were brought together for 
the good of both; that we accomplish His wise pur- 
poses in our constant communion; that I opened her 
eyes to the truth, and that she led me into a field of 
thought too much avoided; that through her I learned 
to forget myself; that through me she felt there was yet 
a surer foundation underlying our whole being, and 
upon it we must both stand. Oh, Fin, the hand of 
Providence is visible now throughout all our inter- 
course ; yet I seem to have lost any clear perception of it 
since she was taken from our midst. It seems to me 
there is an unreality about everything, a deep sense of 
oppressive loneliness which I was quite unprepared for. 
All my theories, all my philosophy, are swept before this 
desolating feeling; and I can only say I am disappointed 
that all my experiences of the consolations that we often 
talked of together fail me at my need. I do not want 
her back, thee may be sure, with all her sufferings; but 
I am lost without her. There seems nothing to do, and 
I sometimes think I have very little feeling left for any- 
body -else, with this constant ache within me. She 
wanted me to be cheerful after she was gone, and I try 
to be so, but there seems very little to be cheerful about. 
I pray God to put some positive work into my hands, 
and let me live over this weary feeling, which has no 
beginning and no end. 

I want thee to see the letter I send to Saide at the 
same time this goes, as it contains some memories of her 
last hours which will be of interest to thee, and which 
must be returned to Agnes. I wrote them at her fath- 
er's request, and it has been copied all around by mem- 
bers of her family, so it is at least satisfactory to them. 
She had no last words for me, but she held my hand to 
the last moment, and I supported her head; and I know 
she loved me, as she often expressed herself, " the best 
in the world." 



1871 and 1872. 171 

Now, dear Fin, about coming to your house; I will 
do so just as soon as I feel as if I could. I am sure it 
would give me no pleasure now, but I am equally sure 
that after a while I shall gladly get away from all these 
painful associations. 

Annie and I have had a wretched time these two days, 
taking things to pieces in her room, and trying to give 
it a different look. Everything in it was arranged for 
her comfort and pleasure, and all her little things about 
seemed to wring our hearts. My first efforts were 
directed to the removal of the medicines, for I knew 
from past experience that they recall only the most 
painful things, and the sooner that part is obliterated 
the better. 

Annie says I am all her strength, but I am weaker 
than she imagines. We have gone through deep waters 
together for the past two years, and we know how we 
each loved " my child." She called herself my child 
at the very last, and I knew she was all the child I 
should ever have, so thee need not wonder it was hard 
to give her up. I am fully satisfied it is all right, but 
my heart has such an ache all the time. I am really 
disappointed in myself, and can hardly think I am a 
cheerful giver. Give thy most earnest prayers for the 
realization of thy belief in my ultimate good. It seems 
very far off now, but I hope my heart is not under a 
hardening process, but rather may be moulded into 
something better than ever before. 

Millbourne, March 25th, 1871. 
Our dear little Annie has just arrived safely; and 
after putting away her clothes under her superintend- 
ence, I am forced to the conclusion that I know nothing 
about what is necessary for children, if thee thinks there 
is any need of sending any more. I shall have to con- 
sult her as to how she is to be dressed, and what things 



172 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

are to be worn together, for I am utterly ignorant, and 
I expect she will look like a little fright under these un- 
favorable circumstances. She is a perfect pet, as I told 
her a while ago, and she immediately responded: " I am 
not half so much of a pet as you are." She assured me 
she is accustomed to wearing two pairs of stockings at 
once, which thee will please confirm; also, that her blue 
dress is for her morning dress, which she is now arrayed 
in minus an apron, as she assures me that is right. She 
says she loves me more and more all the time, and that 
she is going to stay twelve weeks, so if her love increases 
in proportion I think by that time I may fairly rival her 
mother. I have talked so much about her that I know 
folks generally think I am simple, but Miss Denham, 
who went home yesterday, continually regretted not see- 
ing "Annie Garrett/' Just before she started, she said: 
" Oh, I do wish I could have seen Annie; from what 
you tell me, and Agnes's report, I think she must be 
delightful." And so she is; more of a companion than 
children generally are, and so happy it is infectious. . . . 
Every day seems to force upon me the necessity of 
living in the present, and gathering the refreshing 
manna day by day. I wish thee were here to advise me 
about undertaking a class in sunday-school; I feel so en- 
tirely unfitted for it, and yet am sincerely desirous of 
doing what little good I may. It seems to me there 
comes a time in our life's journey when we long to feel 
that we are doing something that is not for ourselves 
only; and even if it is inefficiently done it is still an 
effort in the right direction. There is a certain respon- 
sibility, however, in any such undertaking, and I think 
perhaps I am not called upon to make the many sac- 
rifices it will involve. It is natural for me to lean upon 
others for decisions, which after all, must be made by 
myself; but thee can at least tell me whether I am likely 
to do harm or good by the undertaking, and if I do not 



1871 and 1872. 173 

go out of my own will in the matter, whether circum- 
stances may not decide for me. Louie Peale is going 
West, and is anxious to have her class cared for, and the 
application has been made to me. At first it seemed 
impossible; but whether this is a morbid state of mind 
or not, I am afraid to entertain it. 

I am going down to West Philadelphia this after- 
noon for my dress at Miss Bell's, and thought I would 
scribble these few lines so thee can be assured of Annie's 
safe arrival. She is cutting out her doll's clothes, and 
continually talking to me while I write. She said just 
now: "If you are writing to my mother, you had bet- 
ter thank her for letting me come up," which I do most 
earnestly. She will be a perfect treasure to me at all 
times, and there is nothing like a child for making one 
forget self, — which, thee knows, is always a blessing. 
I hope thee will not miss her too much, or I shall hardly 
enjoy her. . . . 

Millbourne, April 14th, 1871. 

Now that Sary has gone, and the forlorn feeling of 
something lost is in the house wherever I go, it is a 
necessity to write a few lines to thee, and tell thee not 
to dare to empty it still more by taking Annie too. She 
is so intensely happy that her bliss could not be in- 
creased, I think, by a return home; but I am afraid thee 
will not find her without faults when she gets there. 
She has been made so much of that she evidently thinks 
herself the fulcrum upon which everything moves, and 
without her everybody is at a standstill. I plead " not 
guilty " to spoiling her, but there is a combined effort 
in the household to do it which requires some vigilance 
on my part to counteract. My only real complaint of 
her, however, is founded upon an affectation of babyhood, 
which is simply ridiculous, and which tries me dread- 
fully. I cannot endure affectation of any kind, and she 
seems to be full of it when anybody is about before 



174 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

whom I particularly wish her to behave. Now, if there 
is any cure for this I would delight to have it adopted, 
but nothing seems to touch an irrepressible child; and 
thee knows I always thought thee was dreadfully 
affected when thee was a little girl, so I suppose Annie 
will outgrow it. She is just now employed in washing 
the breakfast dishes while Mary wipes them, and a while 
ago I found her scrubbing up an oil-cloth while Mary, 
perfectly powerless, stood by her until her ladyship con- 
sented to give up the scrub. 

Mary thinks she is the most wonderful child in the 
world, and is devotion itself to her. This morning she 
employed herself decorating the door-knobs in my room 
with some pictures Agnes sent her, and when she was 
done said, with a glow of satisfaction: "My, but Miss 
Agnes will be surprised to see how pretty they look! " 

We are to go in on Tuesday to the Museum, on 
Agnes's invitation; and as Annie thinks she is the head 
and front of that exhibition, she expresses the fear that 
" Miss Agnes will be tired keeping the Museum for us 
to see," so we had better hurry. . . . 

Millbourne, April 22d, 1871. 

. . .Tell Eli Father is very much disturbed that the 
check sent is dated 5th month 20, so he cannot deposit 
it. I do not know whether it was intentional or other- 
wise, but my private opinion is that Eli does not know 
one month from another in Friendly style, but has been 
accustomed to write April, May, etc., and so ignorance 
is his excuse. I wrote him yesterday acknowledging the 
check, but did not say that the bay horse left here ac- 
cording to directions the day before, and to-day I sup- 
pose I shall take my last drive with Shellbark. I am 
almost ready to swear off from horses altogether, but 
think I should be rather miserable without one. 

There are some things in thy letter I would like to 



1871 and 1872. 175 

answer, but in this flying hurry cannot do it. Eest as- 
sured thy freedom is not a stumbling-block to me; al- 
though I think it might be to others, who have less 
knowledge of thy spiritual life. In the atmosphere by 
which I am surrounded I am eminently liberal, but 
when I am with thee, I feel as if I were the embodiment 
of conservatism and limitation. We are indirectly in- 
fluenced by those we are with, which makes us involun- 
tarily more responsible than we can imagine; for I know 
I have often been surprised to find how far my influence 
extended when it was not even exerted in that direc- 
tion, and it makes me a little more cautious than I used 

to be. . . . 

Millbourne, May 16th, 1871. 

A rumor has reached me of a trip to California, 
which I think will be just elegant; but as I know an 
easy mind is imperative to the enjoyment of a trip, I 
write to offer all I can do towards that desirable end 
for thee and Saide. Just send Annie and Canby up 
here to stay while you are away, and I will do all I can 
to keep them right until you come back. I have to 
write in a flying hurry, for father is just going; but you 
will understand all that is left unsaid, and tell me any- 
thing else you would like me to do; or if I have anything 
in the way of a wardrobe which would be of any use, it 
is at your command. Oh, you will have an elegant 
time, and I am too glad you have the opportunity. 

Father came out this morning from brother Wil- 
liam's; walked all the way, leaving there about four. I 
told him I thought he had missed his destination; he 
certainly started out for Kirkbride's. Did thee ever 
hear of such a crazy proceeding? And now he is just 
crazy to get off again, and I have not yet discovered 
what he came for. With a stable full of horses at Nine- 
teenth Street, the idea of a man of his years walking 
cut! Oh, Fin, I am sick of everything, and I leel as if I 



176 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

had to think for too many people; and most of all for 
Father, who is more of a child every day in his depend- 
ence. 

He said he thought he would like to see us at home, 
and thought I would rather have him put on another 
shirt, which was certainly necessary in his soaking state 
when he arrived here; but I believe after all it is a proof 
of old age, and an insane desire for home at night. 

Now be sure both Saide and thee command me for 
anything I can do to promote your pleasure. 

Millbourne, October 12th, 1871. 

This to certify, dear Fin, that I have experienced 
no ill effects from my journey yesterday, and it is quite 
evident to me that I was rightly led in coming home. 
Here I have constant occupation of mind, if not of body; 
and mingling both moderately this morning has left me 
tired, to be sure, but not in more pain than when I left 
Wilmington. If I get clear of the faint rumbling which 
indicates a storm, — the " little cloud no bigger than 
a man's hand" which makes it impossible for me to 
forget all that miserable suffering, — I shall begin to 
think it all a dream. 

This morning I fixed my drawers very deliberately, 
and arranged some closets, beside taking a short ride, 
and I cannot see that I am any worse for it; so I just 
hope all the terror of that slow torture will gradually 
fade away, and Dr. ISTegendank may find a fresh disease 
by the time he is called in again. I sent a note to Alice 
this morning, telling her that, incredible as it might 
appear to her, Dr. Negendank had found something 
even worse than black spots, etc. She writes word back 
that I am a goose! She is deep in packing boxes for the 
suffering at Chicago, and all her children are flying to 
school with old flannel petticoats, stockings, coats, vests, 
shoes, and other articles of clothing to add their mites 
to the store to be forwarded. 



1871 and '1872. 177 

Now, Fin, where is thy philanthropy? Will thee go 
on cutting out wrappers and making Irish poplin over- 
skirts, with an earthquake at thy elbow, and a fire in 
Chicago in thy face? Will thee calmly read the papers 
and know that all that beautiful city is laid waste, and 
the cousin Cohens have no place to lay their heads when 
they get there ? 

Oh, thee cannot think what a dreadful way they 
have been in here about Will Patterson, from whom they 
never heard a word until to-day. So many telegrams 
missing. Sam Woolman returned last night, and tells 
fearful things about the fire, and of the horrible revenge 
upon the incendiaries. He saw, himself, one man cast 
headlong into a burning house by the infuriated popu- 
lace, who found him in the act of firing it. Each day 
brings fresh horrors, and indeed it is almost too dread- 
ful in the papers to believe; but Sam Woolman says they 
could not exaggerate the misery and desolation and hor- 
ror of the scene. 

I wonder if you got home last night before the rain. 
I went to bed at seven o'clock, and thought of you all, 
hoping thee would not take cold from thy journey on 
my account. Indeed, dear Fin, thee was very good to 
me, and I know I was very disagreeable; but patient 
waiting is quite beyond me, and the longing for home, 
quite foolish no doubt, is still imperative in sickness. 
All my home attractions are stronger than they used 
to be, and for this thee may rejoice, since the quietness 
of a country place, and the loneliness consequent upon 
it, are a sort of second nature to me now; and it is well 
it is so, as here I am placed by a power higher than 
mine, and from which there needs be no dissent. 

Father seems rejoiced to get me back, and was just 
on the point of going down for me. His satisfaction is 
not evinced in words, but in certain unmistakable signs 
of satisfaction. 



178 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Love to the children and Eli; also to Sary. I hope 
you will both write soon. 

Melbourne, November 17th, 1S71. 

... I have a hideous spell of sewing upon me, try- 
ing to fix up old dresses, which I find is far worse than 
making new ones. All my energies are directed toward 
getting my cloth suit into wearable order, and if I could 
have a dressmaker every other day this winter I think 
I might accomplish something. She comes to cut it 
out to-morrow, and then leaves me for two weeks, so it 
is likely I shall be until Christmas getting it done; but 
I have determined this year not to put any dresses out, 
and if in consequence I am a raving maniac by spring, 
thee need not be surprised. My experience is, however, 
against outside dressmaking; the next year I find it all 
wrong, and no stuff to alter with; so my resolution for 
this winter is to be accounted for. When I can get 
more than one idea into my mind at a time, I shall not 
mind sewing; but I do not look at a paper or book all 
the time the spell is on me, and get into a moral condi- 
tion truly pitiable. I would far rather write letters to 
Annie than get up the handsomest outfit. I will write 
to her soon; in the meantime, love to all. 

Millbourne, January 27th, 1872. 
Ah, Fin, do not scold me, for I have had enough 
self-reproaches for not writing to thee ; but I never felt 
such a dearth. No inspiration. What would I do if I 
were an authoress obliged to grind out something 
whether the steam was on or not? Fortunately I have 
no publishers with obdurate hearts urging me on, only 
a very imperative sister whose commands I dare not 
slight. I got thy letter on my way in to town this morn- 
ing, and the minute I saw the back of it I became sud- 
denly aware of all that it would contain, which is either 
a proof of second sight, or of a guilty conscience. 



1871 and 1872. 179 

Annie is such a little sunbeam that I do not wonder 
there is a wail from 1004 on account of her absence, but 
you must have infinite satisfaction in thinking how 
much pleasure is conferred in this direction. Just now 
when I put Annie to bed she said: "Aunt Pattie, you do 
not know how much my Mamma thinks of me. She 
let me throw up all over the parlor afghan, and she did 
not care one bit." Which proof of affection was cer- 
tainly undeniable. She further added proofs of Chel- 
lie's affection for her as shown in lending her paper dolls, 
and told me her Papa loved her a great deal better when 
she had no heels to her shoes, " but you know I would 
not have shoes without heels, even for him." She asked 
just now if I thought it was right " for Katie to talk 
about people being sick right before me," and when I 
asked an explanation she said: " Well, you know, Aunt 
Pattie, there was a man in the kitchen, and he began it. 
He told about somebody being sick and dying, right to 
my very face, and he might have known I would dream 
about it." I do not like her to be in the kitchen so 
much, and yet I hate to disturb the nice quiet plays 
Mamie and she have together. I told her the other day 
I believed she came up here to see Mamie, and not me. 
She repelled the unjust suspicion very strongly, and 
said: " Do you think I would come here to stay if you 
were not here? No, indeedy." To-night at supper she 
told me she was going to stay until bed-time with 
Mamie, because they were so busy painting, " but I am 
going to be with you to-morrow night, and ironing day 
night, and Monday with Mamie. Won't that be fair? " 
I told her that in two weeks I would be going to Wash- 
ington, and wouldn't she stay with Grandfather until I 
came back? She said: "I would rather go down with you, 
and come back with you." I turned to Aunt H., and 
said I did not think she felt a bit of difference whether 
I was here or not. Annie watched me while I said this, 



180 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

and spoke in a reflective sort of way: "I do know the 
difference, for when you are away and I think you are 
coming back soon I feel pretty happy, but when I know 
you are going to stay away a good while, it makes me 
feel real tired." We all think she is remarkable, and I 
could never get done telling her cute observations. The 
other day I wanted her to go with me to see "Aunt 
Alice," and she declined. I said: "Why, Annie, she is 
real nice." " Maybe she is," she replied, " but she is 
not my real Aunt, and I do not like pretended Aunts! " 
How Alice laughed when I told her! She sent Annie a 
paper of candies by me, and when I gave them to her 
she said: "I did not know she was that kind of an Aunt." 
Ellie Carson was out last Sunday, and was devoted to 
her; and Annie told me she thought Miss Ellie was very 
pretty, but not any prettier than Miss Agnes, " and you 
know she does not have any museum with monkeys and 
elephants like Miss Agnes has." She wanted very much 
to go with me to-day to see Miss Agnes, but it is very 
well I did not take her, as when I went to Broad and 
Prime to say good-bye to Ellie I found Agnes going 
with her, so the museum would have been a failure. I 
came out to dinner, much to Annie's delight, and 
brought her a new paint-box, which is " just elegant," 
she says, and she "must write to tell Chellie about it." 
You would have been charmed to see her read Chellie's 
letter, her face beaming with delight as the meaning 
became plain; and when Chellie said that she was so 
glad to get her letter that she kissed it, Annie's voice 
trembled a little, and she said: " Chellie does love me, 
and I am glad of it." Then she told me of a great many 
proofs of Chellie's affection, and I think if Chellie her- 
self could have heard them she would have been sur- 
prised at the amount of pleasure she had given in her 
little life. . . . 

It reminded me forcibly of a sermon I heard last 



1871 and 1872. 181 

Sunday on " unconscious influence/' and it really seems 
as if we could never know how much pleasure or pain 
we give, or how a slight word, a look, a turn of the hand 
even, may give comfort and strength, or the contrary. 
There is a sort of magnetic influence which some people 
possess and use quite unconsciously, and there is noth- 
ing more powerful than its influence. I have felt it 
often. 

Mr. Kaymond's sermon was truly beautiful, and cal- 
culated to make one feel an increasing responsibility in 
all the little details of life, since we cannot live to our- 
selves alone. Alice said there was some talk of having 
it published, and if it is it will be in Monday's Philadel- 
phia Enquirer, so if thee feels a curiosity thee can look 
for it. 

I expect to have a reproachful letter from Saide be- 
fore long, for after my lovely visit there I have not 
behaved even decently, and beside, I owe her a quarter. 
So between my larger debt to thee and that modest sum, 
it is a question with me when I go to bed at night 
whether I am not cheating Moyamensing of a rightful 
occupant. I feel less concern about the debt to thee on 
account of your opening another account at Mock's! 

Annie's one pair of shoes have been much admired 
by herself, and I think look very well, but whether they 
will be sufficiently fancy for best is a question. I sent 
her up the other day to get some new buttons on her 
old shoes, and when she came back she told me " Mr. 
Mock thought they ought to have half-soles, and so I 
told him he might; " and a day or two afterwards she 
went up again and told me they were " putting on new 
tips, too," which tips consist of the whole front of the 
shoe being renewed; so I think they will be very much 
like Ellen Sellers's white dress — never wear out. She 
is giving them good service now, and I think with the 
two new pairs she ought to be well shod until Spring. 



182 THE STORY OP A LIFE. 

Are you so tired of being without Annie that you can- 
not wait until I go to Washington? It is my present 
intention to go on this day two weeks, and I shall want 
to see you at the depot certainly. I told Ellie Carson 
to-day there was nothing like the prestige of a little 
effort at being an invalid to get attention. Then she 
had her sister going down with her to Baltimore, her 
father and brother and Mr. Austin to see her off; and 
when I went to Washington, I said I expected that I 
should creep into the car all alone, with only a good- 
bye from Montgomery! What a fortunate thing that a 
life of single blessedness has inured me to paddling my 
own canoe! Still, dear Fin, there have been times when 
" there ached a place that wanted rilling." This is only 
mentioned as an inevitable fact, not complainingly; for 
I may truly say that " I have been beloved and blessed 
beyond the measure of my worth." I have such con- 
stant proofs of affection, so many evidences of comfort 
imparted, that I am oftener called upon to wonder than 
to complain, to be thankful than to repine. The cor- 
respondence of which I showed thee part while in Wil- 
mington, is one touching proof to me of genuine interest 
and affection. I so often think of the fact thee first 
brought before my mind in that walk down street, — 
that I did not want to believe as they did. It is really 
just that; I would rather get into the rest and peace of 
Christ in any other way. It hurts and deforms all my 
preconceived opinions; it weakens my reverence, and 
outrages my sense of right and justice; but every soul 
must try for itself in the balance all that seems good. 
If it is not satisf}dng, it is meant to push us on to some- 
thing higher; and thee will not wonder that I perfectly 
long sometimes to believe anything with all my heart. 
When I get into this state I think of those who pleaded 
and strove to see God's face, and were still kept in the 
cleft of the rock in perfect darkness. So it is surely 



1871 and 1872. 183 

right to learn faith by the very absence of light, since 
we know God's hand still covers us. 

Millbourne, February 3d, 1872. 

Talk about indignation at not hearing from me! 
Please turn the mirror, and see how shamefully thee has 
behaved to me. I have not had an idea all week whether 
thee would see fit to accept my invitation for Chellie, 
much less for yourselves; and so until this moment I am 
utterly ignorant of whether thee even comprehended it. 
Annie has insisted all along that you would surely come, 
but of course when this storm came on I gave you up. 
But why no letter before? Oh, Fin, people that live in 
glass houses never should throw stones! So do not ever 
make any complaints on the score of letters. 

I have been in a wretched condition all week with 
my throat. I lost my voice entirely, and one night 
thought I should be a body before morning. My ar- 
rangements are made to start to Washington next 
Thursday if my throat will permit, and this storm get 
through. It looks and sounds now as if it meant to be 
the storm of the season, but I hope it will be well over 
before that time. Unless I hear to the contrary from 
thee I will take Annie with me, and suppose thee will 
be there to receive her. The train leaving 
Philadelphia at 11.45. I am sure thee will 
think she is improved by her trip, as she looks 
the picture of health now. Dear me, how we 
will miss her; and if we both go away together I 
think it will seem sort of forlorn here at home. I have 
had such a nice book this week, " The Life and Letters 
of Miss Sedgwick; " but there is no use to recommend 
it to thee, as thee does not like letters. I feel as if I 
had been in such cultivated society, and am quite un- 
fitted for the tame companionship of our immediate 
household. You in Wilmington, with all your intel- 



184 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

lectual resources, would not be oppressed by the con- 
trast, but I am excluded from these high walks of litera- 
ture! I did not know before that Miss Sedgwick was a 
Unitarian, though brought up in the strictest sect of the 
Pharisees. She lived to be quite old; never married; 
and though her friends were devoted to her, subscribed 
to Miss Muloch's doctrine that " every single woman has 
to learn sooner or later that though she may be useful 
to many she is necessary to none." If thee does not 
choose to read it, thee will miss most pleasant compan- 
ionship; and how can thee like my letters if thee does 
not care for Miss Sedgwick's? I could not help but think 
in reading them how few could have their letters col- 
lected with any credit to their memory. 

Now will thee please inform me if thee gets this 
scrawl, and if I am to bring thy little daughter with me 
on Thursday? 

Our Father was the treasurer of the Plank Eoad 
Company, and on certain days collected the money, and 
often kept it in the house over night before depositing 
it in bank. His habits became known, and we think 
such knowledge was the cause of the visit described in 
the following letter: 

Millbourne, March 20th, 1872. 
Last night between twelve and one I heard some- 
body at my door, and thinking it was Kate, who had 
gone to bed sick, I spoke to her from the bed; but re- 
ceiving no answer, and supposing she wanted medicine, 
and was too sick to speak, I jumped up and opened the 
door. There before me stood an immense man, with 
his face muffled up to his eyes with a white handker- 
chief, looking so death-like and horrible. I shrieked 
aloud; he pushed the door in, which I held in my hand; 
but with all my strength I succeeded in shutting him 



1871 and 1872. 185 

out, while poor little Annie screamed at the top of her 
voice. There was a bright light on the stairs, and the 
sound of several pairs of feet running away. I infer 
there were three in all; but, oh, may I never see such a 
sight again! It turns me cold to think of it. Annie 
is completely unnerved with it, as well she may be, and 
I think you had better take her home, as I cannot keep 
the servants from talking before her, and it will have a 
very injurious effect upon her. Poor little thing, she 
looks so pale this morning, and talks all the time, but 
jumps at every sound. I am almost as bad as she is, 
and quite unfit to calm her, although I try my best. It 
is out of the question for me to go away from home at 
night for a while, and it seems to me better you should 
come for her at your earliest convenience. 

Oh, Fin, it was awful to see that man! He looked 
about Nathan's size, very genteelly dressed, — for it 
seems to me now, when I think of it, we stood and 
looked at one another a full minute before I had 
strength to utter a sound, and he fixed his eyes on me 
and said not a word, — but Annie says the first thing 
she saw was "Aunt Pattie with her head bent down, 
pushing with all her might against the door, and it 
looked like Uncle Nathan, only his face was tied up; 
just the very same kind of a hat and coat/' Then I 
had such a time to rouse Father, and when he was 
aroused he depended on me for protection, and what 
could I do? I threw up the window and whistled with 
all my strength, and sprung the rattle, which perhaps 
startled the robbers, but had no effect on anybody else. 
They got in through the pantry window, where they 
pried open the shutter and cut the window glass; then 
came in and opened the front door as a means of exit; 
got into the closet where the safe was kept, but did not 
get into the safe itself; upset the drawers in Father's 
table, but got nothing for their pains. Indeed, we 



186 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

could discover no actual loss, except of my strength and 
courage, which seem quite gone. Oh, I would rather 
they had taken everything than that I should have seen 
them. It seems to me I can never forget it. One thing 
is certain; we must have some other protection than my 
simple presence in the house. I have written to William 
and John to have a bell put on the stable which will 
arouse the neighborhood at least, and thee may thank 
thy stars thee has a big bold husband, for I might as 
well have been surrounded with children. 

I write this in a great hurry, but hope thee will not 
think I am unduly excited; if I am it is for Annie's 
sake, who will have to receive the greatest care, I am 
sure, after this shock. ' 

For years after this experience, when little Annie 
went to bed her prayer was: "Dear, Heavenly Father, 
don't let us have any burglars; let them walk past the 
house, and peep in the gate, but don't let them come 
in." So her Aunt Pattie's fears for her were well 
grounded. 

Milftiourne, August 9th, 1872. 
Ah, Fin, do not be so cross with poor Marph; she 
does not feel equal to reproaches, and is quite innocent 
of deserving them. All my promises for making thee a 
visit were in good faith, fully expecting to do so; but 
if thee had been here thee would have seen for thyself 
it was an impossibility. Aunt H. is again away, and I 
have this morning declined for the second time an in- 
vitation to come to town, and stay over Sunday. I am 
too sorry Saide has to go home, we have had such a nice 
time together; and somehow the time drags along this 
summer when I am by myself. As to thy inviting me 
to entertain those young girls, the thing is in itself pre- 
posterous. I am only appreciated when I fulfil my mis- 



1871 and 1872. 187 

sion of taking vacant places. It seems to me sometimes 
as if I had no place of my own, but when other people 
fail I am supposed to step in and take the position. It 
has occurred in so many instances that I begin to be- 
lieve it is meant for me; partly for the comfort of others, 
and partly for my own discipline, to show me I need 
never rest upon my own individual attractions or affec- 
tions. My intimacy with Lucy and her friends is really 
a medley of feelings. I am quite apart and removed 
from all their interests in reality, yet they each claim 
sympathy, and depend upon me for affection; and yet 
I am absolutely nothing to any one of them. John says 
Lucy is provokingly like me, but she is very different in 
many ways, too. . . . 

Lucy is very dear to me. When you once are ad- 
mitted into the sanctum she is perfectly lovely, and I 
think she has great confidence in me. 0, youth! youth! 
what is there like it? I feel so old sometimes when I 
am pretending to feel young; but one has to forget her- 
self if she is ever to be good company for fresh, youth- 
ful natures. 

... As to thee, dear Fin, I do want thee to come 
too much, but let it be when nobody else is here. I 
want thee all to myself, and it will be a relief to feel 
that I am enjoyed and appreciated for myself alone; no 
need to put aside my own feelings, or live only in the 
pleasures of others; no need to get up an interest in 
what is long since past to me; no need to play the sibyl, 
and pretend to an extra amount of wisdom and ex- 
perience. To thee at least, dear Fin, I can be myself, 
who am not a day older than when we carried the 
feather beds, and laughed until we were sick over it; 
who wandered up and down the West Chester road, 
linked arm-in-arm with Fin, telling about H. W.; who 
gave her the recipe for sap-sago cheese at an inoppor- 



188 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

tune moment; who was always simple, and always will 
be; — and she at least never expects anything else. 

Oh yes, dear Fin, come soon; come next week, after 
the girls are gone, and just pretend thee loves me as well 
as thee does youth and beauty. My times are truly not 
in my hands, or I should have been to make thee a visit 
before this; but wait now until cooler weather. I should 
be very much disappointed if I could not get there then; 
but now home is the best place for me, and thee must 
come here to see me. 

I have felt real badly about Annie forgetting me; it 
seems as if she had turned her little face away from me 
ever since she left Millbourne, and she is so dear to me. 
I do not want her to be drifting away. Do not let her, 
dear Fin, for want of the loving remembrance of her 
Mother. . . . 

Saide is in town with her boys. I expect she will 
come out a used-up party, as riding does not suit her; 
but she has finished up her sewing and can afford to rest. 
We have been reading together with perfect delight. 
It is so nice to have an appreciative listener, and it is so 
long since I had this, nobody can imagine how I appre- 
ciate it. Oh, Fin, what is the use of living without 
companionship; and yet I do it continually, and give out 
so much there is nothing left in me. 

Always thoughtful for the little ones, she writes in 
her letter of September 21st, 1872: 

After leaving you at the cars, I proceeded to Tenth 
and "Walnut, where I spent a happy half -hour selecting 
paper dolls for my little friend Julia; also for Minnie 
and Lizzie, who were as much charmed as Chellie could 
possibly be. A dear little note just received from Mrs. 
Lammot assures me of the welcome for paper dolls in 
that direction; and an addition in Julians own words 
calls me Miss Aunt Pattie, and sends me a rose instead 
of a kiss. Please tell her the rose looked as sweet and 



1871 and 1872. 189 

fresh as if it grew on purpose for a little girl's kisses, 
and I think ever so much of it; but she must keep the 
kisses for me all the same when I come down to make 
that visit, which I hope will be soon. 

Tell Annie, too, I do not want her to forget me as 
she did before; for it makes me feel very lonesome when 
I get no letters or notes from my friends to assure me 
they still love me. There is one thing I have learned 
in some bitter experience, that single women must feel 
sooner or later, that though useful to many they are 
necessary to none. If we could only utterly forget our- 
selves and be happy in making others happy! Oh, Fin! 
I do wish she were back again. 

Millbourne, September 24th, 1872. 
. . . Thy advice and criticism are alike just and wel- 
come, but how am I to keep my heart from going out, 
as thee says, when there is an attraction which is ir- 
resistible? I may prevent all manifestation, and at last 
cease to hold it in the same importance, but perhaps my 
mission to W. would be unfulfilled then. I hesitate 
about answering her letter or keeping up the correspond- 
ence any longer, for I think it will die a natural death 
if I follow thy advice; and perhaps it would be better. 
There is no need to heap up disappointments for my- 
self. I have enough that come naturally; and certainly 
by this time I ought to keep my feelings under some 
kind of control. However, Fin, if thee knows me root 
and branch, it is an evident fact that " where she erred 
— she errs." . . . 

Millbourne, December 27th, 1872. 
Thy little note, dear Fin, was as good as a Christ- 
mas present; far better, indeed, for it always makes me 
feel like such a wretch when I am so remembered. Last 
night I wrote to Saide, who may as well share her let- 



190 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ters with thee; as it is impossible to make a mill of my 
brain to grind out letters at your bidding. Still, I do 
want to have a little talk with thee ; and since it cannot 
be face to face, it must be even in this graceless fashion. 

I just wanted a letter to-day, and here are three: one 
from Sue, one from Lydia D., and one from thy own 
dear self. The last shall be first this time, since they 
can afford to wait for answers; but thine makes me feel 
like sitting down by thy side and having a good old- 
fashioned talk. To prove its attraction, too, I may say 
that I have laid aside a very interesting book, over which 
I have been poring all morning, called " Iseult Barry," 
a sort of tale or journal kept by a young girl in the time 
of Henry VIII. in the midst of the religious persecu- 
tions against Protestants; for she truly observes, " One 
'can never know what hour of the clock it pleaseth His 
Grace to take up with a new religion, or to go back on 
the old one." It is a funny sort of book, written in 
the strangest fashion, but it makes everything seem so 
real. I begin to imagine I know all the lords and ladies 
at Court, and see their leaning toward the new religion, 
and their inward disgust at all the prayers to the Vir- 
gin; the penances strange and long, and hard for flesh 
to bear; and the suppressed indignation with which they 
witness one after another accused of heresy and con- 
demned to prison, and eventually to death. Truly, how 
many crimes have been done in the name of religion, and 
how much persecution is even yet accorded to the people 
of God if they do not subscribe to the popular form of 
belief! 

If thee sees Saide's letter thee will find me in the 
midst of the justification by faith, and I am always glad 
for people to be fully persuaded in their own minds, 
for I know so well the misery of constant questionings 
and doubt. 

We are so completely snow-bound, we know nothing 



1871 and 1872. 191 

from the outside world. This snow-storm has been truly 
beautiful and grand here in the country, and if all citi- 
zens could be transported into these open fields at such 
a time, they would think they had never before seen a 
snow-storm in its real grandeur. The after conse- 
quences are anything but desirable in the country, how- 
ever; and I dread the roads and the walking. 

Last evening Annie Patterson came ploughing over, 
just to see how we were getting along, and if my throat 
were any better; so it felt real comforting to know we 
were not completely isolated. No papers came to-day, 
and Father and Aunt Hannah sit disconsolate; for the 
daily paper is their meat and their drink, while I am 
content with the weekly information of the Independent 
and Christian Union. 

In the midst of my many errands before Christmas 
I neglected to renew my subscription for Harpers and 
Scrilner's, and am quite doubtful whether I will not 
take The Living Age instead. It always seems to me 
to contain the cream of literature. Alice sends it to me 
once in a while, but so many coming together never get 
read. A little at a time is all that I can digest. Per- 
haps that is the reason I enjoyed thy note so much; or 
perhaps it is only because I found thee was not so far 
removed from me in experience. 



CHAPTEE XL 

1873, 1874, 1876. 

Millbourne, January 10th, 1873. 

This morning, dear Fin, I made an expedition to 
Mrs. Martin's on ChelhVs account, and suppose she will 
receive the result by the morning's mail. As to the 
fathers and lovers for paper dolls, I am afraid I made a 
poor choice; but it was all I could do. I went in to 
Wanamaker & Brown's, where I saw two very stylish 
military gentlemen in the window; but they treated my 
request with calm disdain, saying in explanation, for 
my ignorance, " They are fashion plates, and we are con- 
stantly using them." I ventured to remark that old 
fashions would suit my purpose as well, but they looked 
at me as if I were either an idiot or utterly devoid of 
all knowledge of the requirements of such a business as 
theirs. Agnes and I were together, and we were im- 
mensely disgusted. We meant to have looked farther, 
but our time was short; and Agnes said she would get 
her husband to inquire of his tailor, so maybe some- 
thing more attractive may turn up. I got the only gen- 
tlemen Mrs. Martin had, but do not think they were 
near nice enough for the ladies. If I have failed in any 
part of the commission, or any other directions are neces- 
sary, please let me have them the early part of the week. 
Annie and I now talk of going to Wilmington to-morrow 
week, to stay until the following Saturday, if all things 
are conducive here, and there. 

The day I got thy letter, thy bill was presented for 
shoes, which of course I declined paying; but where are 
the shoes? Unless thee condescends to return them, 



1873, 1874, 1876. 193 

thee will certainly have to pay for them; as neither 
Mock nor I are to be trifled with much longer. 

I have to write a very short letter this time, as I am 
very much hurried, and want to write to Saide too, in 
answer to hers. 

Father is rather indisposed with a cold, and quite 
under the impression that he is very bad indeed. I 
hope it may pass off without any serious results, but I 
always get uneasy when he is sick. 

Cousin Anna Pearson is very ill indeed, and grave 
fears are entertained for her recovery. Poor Alice 
seems to have more than her share, does she not? It is 
with an inward trembling I count my blessings, when 
I see so many losses to others, 

Millbourne, March 4th, 1873. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, had been read, but I will not 
take it as an answer to mine, or as a response to my 
feelings in any way. I shall still look for thee on Satur- 
day, and be very indignant if you do not come. My 
domestic arrangements will stand the pressure, I hope, 
and if they do not, they must be in a very disorganized, 
degenerate condition, needing a thorough reformation. 
. . . There is no other time thee can come so well, and 
none other which would give me more pleasure. 

I would go to town with thee on Monday, and Annie 
Patterson is also at thy service. She is by far the best 
help, and the most suggestive in shopping; but perhaps 
I can serve another purpose in diverting thy thoughts 
from the cares which may oppress thee. Then why 
should thee not stay a few days next week, and act as if 
thee really did love me a little? ... I have invited 
Sister Mary and Anna to spend Friday here to see Sary, 
and they, finding thee was coming the next day, hoped 
they would get another invitation to meet thee; which 
I proceeded to give them " for some day next week," as 



194 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

I told them thy stay was indefinite. Now I find it is 
thy coming which is indefinite, but, Fin, if thee goes 
back of thy word, if thee goes back of my expectation, 
I will not notice in the most casual manner that thee is 
any relation of mine. 

I have just come home from a most perishing trip 
to town to see about Father's picture ordered by the 
Darby Library Association, and after all I could not see 
it; so I have sworn off from any such expeditions until 
it gets warmer. I am still in a sort of shiver, only thy 
note warmed me up with indignation. 

Now write me a note instanter, and tell me if thee 
still wishes to be countenanced as a sister by 

M. S. 



Millbourne, June 5th, 1873. 

There is not a bit of use in trying to write to thee, 
dear Fin, this evening, when my eyes are fast closing 
with sleep; and as to helping thee out of the Slough of 
Despond, it would be too much like " the blind leading 
the blind." Nevertheless, I cannot feel quite comf orable 
without a word, just to show my appreciation of thy 
letter. In the first place, all the weariness of body and 
spirit which oppressed thee seems to me to have had one 
starting-point, which is not defined in thy letter; some 
little or great disappointment which proved the last 
feather that broke the camel's back. What is it? Per- 
haps if thee could make it clear to thyself it would take 
a little of the sting away, but calling it by any other 
name does not do so well. I am really concerned, how- 
ever, about thy using up all thy energies and exhausting 
thy vitality in sewing. I have suffered a little in that 
way myself, and feel like a ship-wrecked mariner on a 
rock, waving my hand in warning to all vessels sailing 
in a like direction. 



1873, 1874, 1876. 195 

Anna and Sister Mary came out last night with stacks 
of sewing on hand, and my own is piled up in the closet; 
while the days drift along in perfect beauty, and the 
moonlight nights are as calm and peaceful as if there 
were no sewing in the world. While we all sat out on 
the East piazza this afternoon, and the long shadows lay 
on the grass, and the music of the fountain was in our 
ears, what were our thoughts engaged in hut dressmak- 
ing, and such like belittling ideas. Truly, one's sur- 
roundings are not indicative of the world in which we 
live; and I for one am heartily ashamed of mine. I 
have a secret and vague sort of an idea that something 
will turn up to give me fresh impulses in a different 
direction, "but what if, habit-bound, thy feet should 
lack the will to turn? " So, as the present only is our 
own, it is time to be up and doing for myself if I ever 
expect to have an idea above the low level in which I 
find myself. 

Now, before I go any farther, let me tell thee to be 
sure and read, if thee has not already done so, "A Chance 
Acquaintance." I feel as if I knew " Kitty/' and want 
thee to do so too, for having just finished it this morn- 
ing I am full of thinking about her, and wondering how 
she felt when she got back to Erie Creek. Do read it, 
and tell me what thee thinks of the finale, — so unex- 
pected, and yet in some ways so satisfactory. No other 
reading has penetrated my mind for long while, and this 
is simply refreshing. . . . 

Millbourne, September 14th, 1873. 
. . . But about the gloves; thee never saw such a 
time. No changing of anything there, and the fellow 
said they were not responsible for their gloves! To add 
to the complacency of this remark he added: " There 
was another lady bought a pair of gloves at the same 
time." " Yes," I said, " I was with her, and got a pair 



196 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

of gloves." " Well, I have a bad fifty-cent note that I 
have traced back to this lady," producing it at the same 
time. I took it quite coolly, examining it carefully, and 
said incidentally: "Will you change the gloves?" To 
which he replied: " No, I could not do it; we are not re- 
sponsible; the gloves have both been worn, and it was 
at your own risk you purchased." " Well," said I, 
picking up the gloves, and throwing down the note, 
" the position is the same with me; I am not responsi- 
ble for this note, and it was at your own risk you took 
it. I do not think I ever gave it to you, and as you do 
not settle your mistakes, it is not worth while for me 
to think of it." The wretch replied with considerable 
heat: " Everything depends on the honesty of the party." 
" Yes," said I, " but honesty should be on your side as 
well as on mine." Annie Patterson enjoyed the whole 
affair, and thought I was wonderfully cool, but inwardly 
I was raging. . . . 

Millboume, December 25th, 1873. 
We have just returned from Christmas at Sister 
Mary's, where, as usual, we had an elegant time; and I 
want to tell thee of the success of thy plan about the 
books. We were at dinner when I saw the Adams Ex- 
press wagon driving by, filled with boxes and packages, 
which of itself was very exciting; but when it stopped 
at the corner the whole family were on the tip-toe of 
anxiety and expectation; and when the bell rang, such 
screams and shrieks! Bessie ran to the door, and we 
held our breath until she came back; and when she 
handed the package to me the crisis was reached, and 
we just tore each other to pieces! I positively had for- 
gotten about the books for a minute, though of course 
I knew the package as soon as I saw it, but when I said 
it was for Sister Mary she looked as if she had been ac- 
cused of murder or theft. I wrote her name in one of 



1873, 1874, 1876. 197 

the books, and she was charmed; and I was delighted 
with Fin for being so smart as to think of the plan. I 
was too sorry, however, I had not sent for a " Day Unto 
Day " at the same time. I could at least have given it 
to Lydia Denham by New Year's, bnt I never thought 
of it until it was too late. Instead I made her three 
ruffs out of the stuff we got at Van Harlingin's. I hope 
she is wearing one to-day. I finished Howard's slippers, 
but not Willie's, and Howard is delighted with them. 
Anna Patterson gave me a splendid lap-board, and 
Agnes one of those lovely little things for flowers like 
the one Saide has in her parlor. I always wanted one 
dreadfully, and success seems to light on my banner, for 
to-day Howard gave me another one; so all that is want- 
ing now are the flowers to look lovely in them. Lucy 
gave me half a dozen handkerchiefs in a beautiful box, 
and Minnie and Lucy worked me toilette mats; 
Bessie made me a hair-receiver of a new pat- 
tern, and Steve got up a wonderful Major 
Bagstock for me, which is the most laughable 
thing thee ever saw. Then Sister Mary made me a 
scrap-book of pictures, or rather, to quote the title, 
" Gems from the Poets," which is very funny indeed. 
Altogether we had a grand good time over our things. 
Anna was delighted with her porte-monnaie, and Bessie 
with her needle case, and we all acted like geese. I 
called at John's on my way down to leave Helen's pres- 
ent to Carrie, and oh! such raptures as she went into 
over it, and " the sweet little note ! " I cannot get 
Alice's to her before Sunday, I guess, for my time is 
pretty much filled up, but I know Helen will excuse the 
delay, as it is unavoidable. Tell her the tidy she made 
for me is the admiration of all beholders, and I like it 
better all the time. Now Christmas is over, we will go 
down into the old ruts again, I suppose, but it is a nice 
sort of exhilaration to get up things for that happy 



198 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

time. I hope the children liked all their things, and 
had a good time, and that thee enjoyed it too. 

I am dead beat out, and am just going to bed; but 
thought I would say good-night to my dear Fin, and tell 
her I had such a nice visit I want to go again, only it 
would be the decent thing for thee to come here, and I 
shall certainly expect thee. Does thee know Lucy S. 
has been here for two or three days, and seemed to be 
perfectly happy in the quietness? So if she could stand 
it, surely thee might. When will thee come? Hurry 
up and tell. 

Well, the world " isn't as it used to was, and folks 
don't do as they used to did! " Why, the other night 
K. L. was trying to impress us with the conviction that 
Elisha had a hard time to persuade her to become his 
wife! Pshaw. I felt like Chellie when she said to her 
grandfather, " Fd spit you out!" and such fol-de-rol is 
insufferable. We have 'heard that tale so often it is 
almost worn threadbare, but from some people it is 
odious! Truth is a jewel, and where will we find it 
now-a-days? How I detest shams of any kind, or a 
dressing-up of facts into a different appearance until we 
are unable to recognize them. Pleasant manners are 
delightful, and much to be envied; but though they are 
generally good coin in this world, commend me to the 
heart of truth which is ashamed to appear what it is not. 
Sermon being over, I now go back to my usual employ- 
ments, and relate further, as to my experience since 
thee left, that of reading " Peculiar " by Epes Sargent, 
— very interesting, and exceedingly trashy. If thee 
wants some new impressions of spiritualism, thee had 
better read it. Evidently novel-writing is not his forte, 
for with a very large kernel of truth to build upon, he 
has made (in my opinion) a particularly absurd and un- 
natural relation of facts. "All of Slavery " is much bet- 
ter told in Mrs. Kemble, for that bears the stamp of 



1873, 1874, 1876. 199 

truth unquestionably upon it, and as to the spiritualism, 
Kobert Dale Owen is as much as I am able to digest, 
without the startling propositions contained in " Pecu- 
liar." Thee may perhaps think I had much better be 
looking after a remedy in my own household than pick- 
ing flaws in other people ; but I have determined not to 
feel so anxious and worried any longer about my affairs, 
but, in consideration of the established number of hours 
in the day, be content to do what will fill them, not 
striving to put two days^ work into one, or " taking 
thought for the morrow " more than is absolutely neces- 
sary. 

I miss Chellie so much, and would gladly have her 
again, or Helen either, provided thee has not in the 
meantime spoiled them so as to be disagreeable. Some- 
times I am ready to believe I ought to have the com- 
panionship of children for my own happiness, but such 
high-flown sentimentality vanishes when the little rebels 
tear through the house like wild animals, and leave their 
tracks wherever they go. One child is just enough for 
me, and, unfortunately, I am too much for any one 
child. But they love me for all, at least when they are 
little; but no doubt they will find me out better some 
day. 

i 
Millbourne, January 4th, 1874. 

Does it ever occur to thee, my dear Fin, that it is a 
good thing to oegin the year well? If so, perhaps it 
would be well for thee to remember some engagements 
yet to be fulfilled, in one of which I am especially inter- 
ested. Did thee not take thy solemn oath to make me 
a visit of a few days in the gloomiest time I might have 
this winter? Now it has come. I am in a desperate 
condition, and was just about to write a note to John 
to-day, saying, " Find us a house; I cannot live here any 
longer," when the thought flashed upon me, "I will 



200 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

remind Fin of her promise." Annie has been away for 
nearly a week, and I have felt like a caged lion with 
nobody to growl at. This is Sunday, and a day like 
spring, but nobody has been near us. The roads are too 
dreadful to think of going over them willingly, and if 
thee comes here thee must expect to be cut off from all 
social life. Still, I do not see any way for thee to get 
out of it honorably, and beside I have just paid thy bill 
of $10.50 for shoes; and as thee has a small account 
against me, it would be a good thing to settle up pretty 
soon, unless thee wants to bear the bank robbers com- 
pany in New Castle. Does thee not wish thee had never 
said a word like coming until spring, when Millbourne 
will become generally attractive? But unfortunately 
for thee, poor Fin, I have it down in black and white: 
"A gloomy, quiet time for thee will be the best for me 
to make my visit." Then follow some absurd remarks 
about leaving thy dear, good husband, but I pay no at- 
tention to that. He had better cultivate his feelings as 
a Father, and let thee remember there are some claims 
beside his own. Now, Fin, I am in good earnest, but 
will not ask more than a few days at a time, for I know 
thee could not stand it; and as to having homesick peo- 
ple about, it would make me sick. I will graciously 
allow thee the privilege of fixing thy own time, either 
this week or next, or the week after; but there is no use 
in trying to dodge this matter, and I shall be imbecile 
if thee postpones it too long, as I fully feel my intellect 
leaving me, with nothing to keep it alive. 

What glowing accounts I received from Carrie of 
her visit at Wilmington, and oh, the report of the girls, 
and Howard, and Willie, of their stay at Saide's was 
transporting! As they related their various pranks upon 
each other, I wondered, but was silent. It has been a 
long while since I was young, so perhaps that is the rea- 
son I thought it would be much more fun to go to bed 



1873, 1874, 1876. 201 

in a comfortable way. But they said they " never had 
such a week," and Uncle Clem and Aunt Sadie were 
splendid; they never stopped them in anything, but, as 
Howard said, " gave us full swing." 

If thee is expecting anything of this hilarity at Mill- 
bourne, it would be well to inform thee that 8.30 is thy 
bed-time, and a little before eight the breakfast hour; 
no salt or gingerbread allowed in the sheets; no parties 
every night, and nothing but the most solid behavior 
encouraged. A sermon every morning, and again at 
night, shall be thy intellectual food; and if thee in- 
dulges in idle talk a reprimand is already prepared for 
thee. It will be a good discipline, however, and I guess 
thee will have to take it if thee expects to be kept in the 
books of thy expectant M. S. 

Millbourne, January 29th, 1874. 

Oh, Fin, what a dear good girl thee is to send me such 
a nice letter just when I needed it, and though I expect 
to see thee to-morrow, I will still write this little note 
to say, Good manners bring their reward! ... I do not 
believe thee enjoyed thy visit to Millbourne half as 
much as I did. It gave me such a lift that even yet I 
have not sunken down into the old rut, and my constant 
thought is, " Oh, my Lord, oh, my Lord, keep me from 
sinking down." . . . 

Millbourne, February 3d, 1874. 

. . . Oh, Fin, if thee could only have heard Mr. 
Furness on Sunday! — the sweetest sermon I ever lis- 
tened to, and the most encouraging; but he certainly 
had all hearts when he said it was a constant thought 
with us that in another situation we would be better 
and more faithful, never accepting the spot on which 
we stand as the point to be worked from. Truly, I 
thought Louise was about right when she whispered to 



202 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

me, " That man is a witch! He knows every weakness." 
We were both perfectly delighted, and felt rewarded 
for the going, and I, at least, better ever since. . . . 
Nobody has expatiated on my companionship so ardently 
as thyself for some time, and I fear thee will not like me 
so well when surrounded by more brilliant company; 
bnt I am coming, so just make up thy mind to it, for 
thee has brought it on thyself. Now, Fin, write in- 
stanter, and explain thy letter of to-day. " Say it over, 
Pard, and say it slow! " 

If thee gets this letter Wednesday night, thee could 
mail a letter to Millbourne, and I would get it before 
I went to Sellers's, which would be most satisfactory. 
If not, shall look for it at either of the other addresses 
enclosed. If it were not for the invitation to Sellers^ 
I should go down at once, so Aunt Martha should not 
have her plans interfered with. 

I have written to Aunt Anna, so there, am I not 
good? 

Millbourne, August 19th, 1874. 
Now, Fin, I do not know whether I can answer thy 
letter or not, but I am going to make an effort, in spite 
of surrounding circumstances. I am sort of " living on 
the ragged edge of anxiety," etc., lately, and if thee could 
see the army of plumbers at work, and hear the infernal 
noises they are making up in that old empty tank, thee 
would wonder how I could compose my mind to even 
the thought of writing. It is not writing, however, that 
I think of, but just a little talk; and thee must try to 
take the outline in its most suggestive form, for I know 
I can never go into details. Anna and I greedily devour 
every atom of news from Monterey Springs; but I have 
not yet forgiven her sending Sister Mary's letter out to 
Bessie, and never letting me have a taste of it. To save 
all future trouble, we are going to have them published; 



1873, 1874, 1876. 203 

and if thee has not seen them, I will send thee a paper! 
They are creating quite a furor in this region, and when- 
ever Anna has company she entertains them with choice 
extracts! Oh, Fin, if either thee or I had sat up in bed 
when we were six months (or was it weeks?) old, read- 
ing aloud for the benefit of our parents,* we might 
have come to something by this time; but she got the 
start of us in every way, and is continually casting us 
into the shade. 1 am glad I did not go traveling with 
her, but suppose thy natural conceit keeps thee up. 

She is a goose, however, about one thing, — to talk 
of coming home when nobody wants her, and she will 
just throw everybody into pi by her return so inoppor- 
tune for Anna and me. 

This plumbing business, together with Mamie's sick- 
ness, have prevented our visit to Ellerslie so far, but we 
hope to surmount all difficulties by the end of the week, 
and make a little visit there. So just keep her safe with 
thee, and try to get nearer her level than when thee 
went away; so there may not be such painful contrasts 
among the sisters. 

I have just written a hurried letter to Saide, and 
had to skim over things generally for her benefit, for 
I positively have not written to her but once since she 
went away, and she " don't know nothing " so now I feel 
sort of drained dry, and cannot bear to tell the same 
story twice. 

This letter is written with every advantage for 
variety, as I am continually called off for butcher, or 
baker, or plumbers, and can never sit more than five or 
ten minutes at a time, or have one settled idea more than 
half a second. 

* Father always remembered more about Sister Mary's infancy 
than that of any of the rest of us, and told some wonderful tale 
of her reading aloud at a very infantile age, — which Pattie put 
down at six months. 



204 THE STOBY OF A LIFE. 

Anna has written to her mother this morning, also 
to Sue Janney; and is now engaged in getting up a char- 
acter for industry in the sitting-room, — like the tail- 
or's boy, who did nothing all day, and then wanted to 
know what he should " fly at next." 

Aunt Anna is reading aloud, and I suppose they will 
find something in the paper about Beecher, but after 
his statement what more do you want? I am like the 
Dutch judge, — "I don't care to hear the other side." 

I could not help but laugh over the scales which 
have fallen from your eyes in regard to the Stewart 
family, and do truly believe that we are particularly sus- 
ceptible to the influence of nice manners, — for the 
obvious reason that we are somewhat deficient ourselves 
in this attraction. Please do not feel insulted by this 
insinuation, for I include myself in it most emphati- 
cally; and believe the devil himself would never have 
any effect upon me if he were not fascinating in his 
manners, but with that attraction an angel of light 
would be completely passed by for him. 

Here I was again disturbed in my train of thought, 
but it was not worth following, since everybody knows 
where it leads, and since then I have bought water- 
melons and cantaloupes, looked at peaches, and straight- 
ened things out generally in the kitchen. . . . 

We had a sort of a sirocco here last night, if thee can 
imagine a blast of heat without wind, — a sense of suf- 
focation without much desire for life; and visions of a 
hotter place made me come to the conclusion to be as 
good as I could, and repent of all my evil behavior. This 
morning, however, it is cooler and pleasanter, and I am 
not so much oppressed by a sense of sin! . . . 

She writes from the Water-Cure, where she had been 
for many weeks. It was an anxious time, as she had 
to ask some one to be with Father, and of course she 



1873, 1874, 1876. 205 

was troubled at placing her burthens on others. Her 
letters at this time are full of sleepless nights, and re- 
grets at her own inability to be herself. She writes: 

22 Merrick Street, February 15th, 1876. 

The Doctor now says there is no trace of disease, and 
with great care there is nothing to do but get well. He 
has said so much about my keeping an even, unexcitable, 
free and easy mind that it is quite evident he thinks I 
am weak in the upper story, and cannot bear " the crum- 
ple of a rose leaf." For this reason, perhaps, he has 
steadily opposed my going home, fearing I will get into 
a sort of rut of responsibility and care, which above 
all things is to be avoided in my present condition. In 
view of this, Fin, I expect every wish, every whim to 
be gratified, and no ripple to disturb the sweet serenity 
of my mind. I am to have the most agreeable society 
that my friends can offer. I am to be at liberty to take 
little trips whenever I feel like it, and if a shadow 
crosses my brow, or a scowl comes upon my countenance, 
everybody is to sit in fear and trembling of the conse- 
quences. Now nothing could suit my complaint bet- 
ter than to have the opportunity to lord it over every- 
body, and above all, to get young Fin under my 

thumb! ... 

Melbourne, May 2d, 1876. 

Poor Fin! I am so sorry thee is sick, and that always 
excites my sympathies so much that I am forced to write 
and tell thee so, although there is nothing worth writing 
about. We seem to be a poor lot, and indeed it some- 
times appears to me as if nobody were well any more. 
I suppose as one grows older she is more apt to see the 
shady side of life, but when I look back I cannot re- 
member any time that everybody seemed to have some 
physical ailment. It is like everything else; — when 
the mind is called to contemplate one set of ideas, noth- 
ing else seems to present itself. . . . 



206 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

For a long time my mind has been turned, to sick- 
ness, and it seems as if I had always some one to nurse; 
but this winter I found that I had never had half 
enough sympathy for invalids, and could never have 
fully appreciated the weakness and weariness of sick- 
ness. If I do not do it now, I must be hardened in- 
deed; but it seems to me all wrong that thee should be 
presenting thy claims for sympathy, when I am used 
to thinking of thee as in the first bloom of health. 

Next to invalidism comes doctoring, and there I am 
always at sea. It seems to me we all drift about from 
one set of ideas to another where physicians are con- 
cerned, and are sure to be brought at last to believe that 
nobody knows anything. Well, if thee goes to Mrs. S., 
I think of those who have tried her and failed to be 
cured; if I go to Dr. B., it is only to prove the fallacy of 
his method; if I change to Dr. Ma, I wonder whether 
it is his cure, or simply the result of a depleted system 
under the process of building up. It seems very un- 
grateful to doubt it, but he seemed to do so little for 
the great result which followed, that I cannot help ques- 
tioning it a little sometimes. He has given me little or 
no medicine but lager beer, which I still drink like any 
old toper. Now, Mrs. Sartain is right, and all this 
might have been my portion last Fall instead of that 
long drain and the constant sacrifice of being from 
home; it is enough to make me consign Dr. B. at once 
and forever to the " demnition bow-wows," and I feel 
it my duty to warn everybody against him. It really 
does not do (as thee says) to look back and wish we 
could undo our actions. All we can do is to live up to 
the light afforded, and buy our experience. I have 
bought mine very dearly, but I certainly thought I was 
doing the best thing; and am sure that a year before 
it was he who cured me of gastric fever, and not Dr. M., 
so I am tossed about if I try to form any opinion. As 



1873, 1874, 1876. 207 

to Mrs. S., I do not know what to think, only if she 
keeps thee on the trot to see her, without curing thee 
pretty soon, my mind will be made np about her. Then 
as thee tried to break up my faith in Dr. B., I shall send 
thee to Dr. M. too, for there is no use in thy trying to be 
interesting as an invalid. I am tired of the very name, 
and will not let thee take that role if it can be in any 
way prevented. My own opinion is that neither Mrs. S. 
nor anybody else can do much unless thee joins in heart 
and soul thyself, and systematically and conscientiously 
makes it the first object of life to get well. Thee might 
-as well do it first as last, and let even sewing and house- 
cleaning get behindhand for once. This brings me to a 
point in which I wish to ask thee if thy remarks on my 
housekeeping were pure satire or a faint attempt at en- 
couragement, for I can make no sense of 'them in any 
other way, and do not think thee is called upon to stul- 
tify thyself merely to arouse my slumbering ambition. 
If, as thee says, " each one knows her own weaknesses," 
thee must have great satisfaction in seeing so clearly 
that thee is a goose, but it will be pointed out very dis- 
tinctly in the minds of other people if thee holds me up 
as a housekeeper. I have been through a ' sea of dis- 
couragements lately in respect to that very thing, and 
have thought how much more either of my sisters was 
able to accomplish. The first real encouragement I had 
came from brother William the other day, and he had 
no idea of it himself. He was giving me some account 
of Edge Moor, also some of Sellers Bancroft's early ex- 
periences in the shop, in the course of which he let me 
into the secret of his success, and I found I was in my 
small way faintly imitating it. His principle is to throw 
responsibility on each person, and never take it off; cer- 
tainly never to assume it himself. Now thee sees I have 
that idea in good earnest, and try to follow it out with 
the servants; and am especially constrained to do so 



208 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

with my sisters, whenever I get a chance. As thee 
knows, when things go wrong here I always find some- 
body to blame instead of myself. I am sorry I haven't 
folks always on hand for this purpose, but I save up 
some things as the result of the management on my 
part when I was bringing you up! I repent, but it is 
now too late to make much change for the better in you. 
The next lot of children I bring up, however, I shall 
know something, and they will too. . . . 

I expect Miss Hollis to come on the 16th, at which 
time I " desire the prayers of the congregation," and if 
I live through the dispensation hope to have some- 
thing decent to wear beside a wrapper, which is still my 
only garment. I am completely demoralized, and fear 
my fashionable relatives will " pass by on the other 
side " if they meet me. 

Now, dear Fin, my fingers are tired, and this letter 
must be folded up, — a great deal of writing and noth- 
ing said, but it was only meant for a love token, and 
that need not be criticised. 

Millbourne, June 2d, 1876. 

... I have just had a trip to the Centennial, and 
am tired out. It is the first time I have attempted to 
stay any time, and try to get the worth of my money, 
and now I feel as if I wanted to shut myself up for a 
week, and recover. Mrs. Mitchell goes every morning, 
and spends the entire day, coming home as fresh at night 
as she started out in the morning. She goes into a 
regular study of various departments, and has her mind 
thoroughly alive for new ideas; so reflect on that, and 
mourn thy great deficiencies! No human being, how- 
ever, can do anything if his body becomes a constant 
burden; and my belief is that the mind is affected 
materially by physical infirmities. I used to think I 
had a moderate amount of sense and abilitv. but now 



1873, 1874, 1876. 209 

I find it was an entire mistake, and I have not even 
common capacity. . . . 

Millbourne, July 10th, 1876. 
Well, Fin, I always knew thee was simple, but this 
last proof of it is really hopeless. It is quite evident 
thee needs a change for thy mind, if not for thy body; 
and if any one out of her teens were admitted at the 
Feeble-Minded Institute, I should immediately take 
measures to have thee removed to Media. As it is, I 
can only do the next best thing, and bring thee to Mill- 
bourne (where a great mind is loudly called for); and 
I am sure it may call out thy latent faculties. Sister 
Mary and Anna are going about the house panting for 
air, and our usual custom is to take off all our super- 
fluous clothing (in a manner) directly after supper, and 
go wandering around the lawn, each with a palm leaf 
fan. In the day time we soak, and in this condition I 
received thy letter. Nobody ever knows where thee will 
turn up next in thy fertile suggestiveness; but certainly 
to ask me to put on decent clothes and make an appear- 
ance at Wilmington is simply preposterous. Nothing 
under Heaven could induce me to turn out in such 
weather, not only on account of the heat, but because 
this place could not live at all just now without me. I 
have hardly the face to ask thee to come up, and yet I 
will, first premising that thy presence is absolutely 
necessary to my comfort. Sister Mary and Anna leave 
for Mt. Desert this day week, and if thee does not come 
instanter upon their departure, I shall know thee does 
not love me, and never did. The attractions are dimin- 
ishing every day; the place looks awful; the bugs have 
eaten all the leaves off the elm trees, and the worms 
hang dancing from the boughs; the air is saturated with 
a perfume from the bone factory, and when this is alle- 
viated, a fresh breeze brings a new odor from the paper 



210 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

mill; the ground is as dry as a brick; and finally our 
misfortunes culminate in the fact of inability to get 
water. No such luxury as a bath is known here; the 
fountain is as dry as tinder, and my mind is on the rack 
continually to keep the water-back supplied and pre- 
vent an explosion. All this misery is the more aggra- 
vating from our knowing that the water is sent to the 
farm instead, and cows and horses luxuriate in our de- 
privations. It demands a master mind to bear up 
against this accumulation of miseries, and constant 
appeals to Thomas and letters to Wm. Sellers & Co., all 
have the same affect as the beating the Dutchman's wife 
gave him. It does not hurt them, and I suppose they 
think it amuses me. . . . 

ISTow do, dear Fin, come up next week, and help me 
to demand fair play. The mill draws the water down 
so low in the run that there is not sufficient to turn both 
wheels, and as ours requires more force, it all goes to 
the benefit of the farm, and we are the sufferers. This 
has now been the case for several weeks, and it is grow- 
ing insupportable. . . . 

I leave all arrangements as to bringing the children 
to thy own inclination and judgment. Thee knows I 
will give them a welcome, but first of all I want thee; 
and want thee to take a rest, here in the Desert of 
Sahara. If thee can, with some enchanted rod, strike 
the rock and let the waters gush out for our benefit, 
thee will have a statue erected in honor of the deed, — 
a marble naiad guarding our fountain, which now is 
only meant for the accommodation and generation of 
mosquitoes. . . . 

TO ANSTIE GARRETT. 

Millbourae, December 24th, 1876. 
This is " the night before Christmas," Annie dear; 
and I have been thinking about thee a great deal, par- 



1873, 1874, 1876. 211 

ticiilarly since I heard thee was sick. It seemed to me 
I must immediately run off to town and get thee some- 
thing nice, or thee would not know how much I loved 
thee on Christmas day. It is always so pleasant to be 
remembered; and after being sick a good deal myself I 
know how to appreciate the least little thing at such 
times. It is not always, however, the things which are 
bought that comfort us the most; and so I could not 
go to town, and had no money in my purse beside, I 
hope thee will find as much love in this letter as if it 
were accompanied by piles of books, or lots of paper 
dolls to delight thy eyes. I remember when I had the 
measles, thy mother and thy Uncle Nate had them at 
the same time, all in one room together; and we looked 
particularly nasty, I thought, with little red spots all 
over us; and nothing tasted as we expected, and things 
were generally uncomfortable. Down by the mill there 
used to grow a pear tree, which bore the most delicious 
pears, only, unfortunately, the best ones always fell into 
the water and floated away. Well, while we had the 
measles, we thought that to get one of those pears would 
just be the nicest thing, and were sure it would taste 
good, and go to the right spot. Alas! when Uncle John 
nearly tumbled into the race in order to get them, we 
tasted them, and could hardly believe they came from 
that tree, but were sure he was cheating us with some 
poor kind out of the orchard; so thee sees we were in a 
bad way, and could not like the very best things. I 
suppose that is just the trouble when we get out of sorts 
now, — out of humor, I mean; for no matter what good 
things we get, they do not seem very nice while we are 
not in a cheerful mood to receive them. There is not 
much use in preaching this little sermon to thee, who 
is such a sunny little girl; but of all the good things thee 
has ever received thee may thank the Good Father the 
most for this same happy, contented spirit, which will 



212 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

always make life bright and pleasant to thyself and all 
thy friends. Even sickness will not be so hard to bear, 
and so I need not pity thee very much. I used to think 
it would be very aristocratic and fine to be considered 
delicate, and I remember Aunt Sadie and I had a real 
quarrel once over the question which was the more so, 
of us two. We were down in the meadow playing when 
the question arose, and we were so much aroused at last 
that we went straight to the house to ask Mother about 
it. I referred to the fact that I was once sent to Wil- 
mington for my health, and Aunt Sadie mentioned that 
she was of a " light, airy shape," and everybody would 
see that she was the more delicate. Well! much to our 
disgust, Mother said she did not think either of us was 
very delicate, and we might be very glad of it. After 
that we just gave ourselves up to the idea that we were 
hopelessly common, and would never be considered at 
all aristocratic! I hope thee does not intend to get up 
a reputation of that kind by getting the measles, for I 
too well remember the big plates of mashed potatoes 
that disappeared before thee to make me believe thee is 
very delicate. 

I suppose Alice Sellers and thee are trying which 
can be the sickest, and if you do not keep it up too long 
there may be some fun in it. In the first place, you get 
to be so important, everybody is ready to wait on you; 
and they think, " poor little thing, she feels badly, and 
must have something nice." Then I know Chell gives 
you a chance at paper dolls, and Helen is always think- 
ing of how she can make you feel better. They will, 
maybe, get tired of being so good, and I would not ad- 
vise either of you to put too long a strain upon them. 
Does thee not remember when I was sick, and Alice Sel- 
lers and thee were here, how good you were to me? You 
were always running about to wait on me, and when 
you couldn't do anything else, you sat down and sang 



1873, 1874, 1876. 213 

to me. I often think of it, and I wish I could give 
yon as much pleasure as you gave me. . . . Perhaps the 
Doctor will come in some day soon, and look very wise, 
and say to your Mother: " I think it would be better for 
this little girl to have some country air, and I would ad- 
vise you to send her up to her Grandfather's, and let 
Aunt Pattie take a turn with her." Dear me, that 
would be as aristocratic as I was when I was little, and 
if there is any chance of that, I shall be very glad. 

This letter has to be written in a flying hurry this 
morning, because I am going down to Uncle John's to 
dinner, and I am afraid the turkey will be all eaten up 
before we get there. I must run off and get dressed, 
and curl Grandfather's hair, and give things a general 
fix before I leave. . . . 

Give my love to thy Mother. I want to see her very 
much, for don't thee know we were once little girls to- 
gether, and had lots of good times? — so we cannot for- 
get it now, and have a very near feeling for one another 
in spite of being women grown, and getting on in years. 

I hope thee will spare a little of thy patience for 
Frank when his turn comes to be sick, and give my love 
to Alice Sellers and Frank, and tell them both to get 
well, or I will come down and give them what " Paddy 
gave the drum," instead of any Christmas or New Year's 
gifts. 

Does thee not think it would be nice to write me a 
letter? for I should be so glad to get it, and it is so 
pleasant to give pleasure. I kiss thee for Christmas. 



CHAPTEE XII. 

1877 and 1878. 

In the winter of 1877 we were anxious about Father 
and Pattie, necessarily left alone so many times, for 
often the roads were in such a condition that it was 
difficult to get in and out of town, and the family had 
talked of their leaving Millbourne, and taking up their 
residence in West Philadelphia, in one of the new 
houses Brother John had been putting up on Thirty- 
third street. 

Millbourne, January 1st, 1877. 

My letter was never answered, and it remains in my 
mind against thee, although with my amiable disposi- 
tion I cannot stay mad. Indeed, Fin, I would have been 
glad to accept the invitation for Sunday, though it was 
almost too short notice to be acted upon; and now I am 
glad we did not try to go. This storm is beautiful in 
itself, but not at all inviting for traveling; and this even- 
ing while the wind whistles and moans around the cor- 
ners of the house, and the fine snow beats against the 
windows, I am only too glad we are safe and snug, and 
well at home. . . . 

I have made it a religious duty of late to vary my 
life a little by small trips to West Philadelphia. I took 
dinner at John's on Thanksgiving, on Christmas, and 
on New Year's; always with a good welcome and a nice 
time, but always with a sense of utter unfitness for so- 
cial life. They are all so young and bright and full of 
life, and I feel so removed from any part of it, or rather, 
as if they could do just as well without me, and I had no 
real place. Oh, Fin, it is not very exhilarating to feel 



1877 and 1878. 215 

oneself sort of played out, and it convinces me I am 
quite unfit to think of change from the quietness of this 
place to the demands of that. Saide will tell thee, per- 
haps, that I have been going into troubled waters in 
contemplating any change. I think about it one way 
until I am just dazed, and then the other view seems 
just as imperative. The dreadful sense that I alone 
must decide this thing, truly oppresses me; and it was 
in one of these groping, anxious, searching phases that 
I wrote to thee, hoping to get some help. I might have 
known nobody could give it. . . . Letters are of no ac- 
count anyhow, and every idea upon which mine was 
founded was too vague and unformed and undefined to 
admit any hope of being translatable into words. I 
ought not to have written until I was a little more out 
of the woods myself, but to grope about in the dark, 
not knowing what is right or what is wrong, is miserable 
work, and has unsettled my habits in every way; and 
both eating and sleeping are things to be courted now, 
just on account of this ever-present decision hanging 
over me. I turn from it in disgust, and think we will 
still go on just as we have done/ and it will be better to 
have but one breaking up, — that must come sometime, 
either by Father's death or mine, — and then action 
will be easier, because it is imperative. But when I 
think this is fully settled in my mind, a feeling as if I 
were not equal to the occasion, now it has come, op- 
presses me; a feeling as if there had been enough warn- 
ings, and I refused to take them. So does thee not see, 
Fin, how " misable " it makes me, hesitating forever 
between two opinions. . . . Thee asked me if I was 
willing to live as you do, with one man and one girl, or 
had considered the various deprivations; and I answer, 
Oh, yes, I have gone into the lowest depths; have finally 
arrived at the H. family economy, and had a small child 
to tend the door. Perhaps Georgie might do for a 



216 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

page, or John run from the stable to put on a white 
apron and stand behind my chair, while my food would 
be penetrated by a horsey flavor. I cannot see anything 
about that clearly, but suppose it would adjust itself 
after a while. . . . 

Did Annie receive my letter? and is she to follow in 
the footsteps of her unregenerate Mother? 

Before urging the question of a removal to West 
Philadelphia, I felt anxious to understand the true in- 
wardness of Father's position, and had a talk with him. 
Shall I ever forget that day in the Millbourne parlor? 
I can see the picture still: — Father beside the east 
window, where he could look across the fields toward 
the old house, with all the familiar landmarks, his home 
for a life time; and I in front of him, where I could look 
into the dear, gentle face with its halo of gray hair, and 
with a great weight on my heart, fearing to put the 
question as to the future. Dear Father, who was always 
so anxious to do all he could to make Pattie happy, said: 
" Well, my dear, it will not make much difference to me 
if it will relieve my daughter Martha. I am an old man 
now, and am not much society for her, and I have often 
felt sorry for her, so if my sons think best " . . . 

I, who had been one to urge the change, could not 
do it after that talk. Not that Father objected, but the 
simplicity of his renunciation of himself, the thought 
only of Pattie's happiness, made me feel that we were 
asking too much from him; for what would his life be 
without the trees, and the grass, and the open country, 
which were his delight. We could not see him shut up 
in the city between brick walls; and so I was more than 
glad when Pattie's letter of March 14th came, putting 
off the evil day; and the letter of April 30th saying the 
project was abandoned. 



1877 and 1878. 217 

Millbourne, March 14th, 1877. 

Well, Fin, since I am destined not to see thee to- 
morrow (as I fully intended), I conclude to send at least 
a word to make things clear. I am truly on the sick 
list, so far as hot stomach, want of appetite, and general 
good-for-nothingness goes, which is enough to frighten 
me out of any thought of Wilmington. Still, there are 
enough things to make me want to go, just as a general 
relief to lots of thoughts pent up needing expression. 
Thee sees when thee was here we calmly went into the 
discussion of our future at Millbourne, and yet after 
Clem went through all his calculations, etc., I was more 
at sea than ever, and now I do not know where I am. 
It seems to me plain, however, that, house or no house, 
it is better not to rush into West Philadelphia in the 
summer. And so all this uncertainty has prevented my 
doing anything in regard to the horse Eli told me 
about, and I have made no effort to convince Father of 
the propriety of parting with Philip, fearing it would' 
only bring our prospects into discussion, which I did 
not feel ready to meet. . . . 

It seems as if every move I make, every thought I 
think, comes butt upright against the leaving or not 
leaving Millbourne. I seem to be well provided with 
company for a few weeks now, so I cannot get up any 
complaints of loneliness, and am not in a fit state to 
consider removal as a necessity. I must try to see things 
more clearly for my own comfort, and get out of this 
wearing state of indecision. . . . 

Millbourne, April 30th, 1877. 

... I have just gone through such an ordeal with 
Miss Hollis, that dress-making would make thy flesh 
creep were I to unfold my tale; but Sunday brought 
rest, and I just lay on the bed and thanked the Lord for 
the good it did me. Oh, what would we do without Sun- 



218 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

days? If nothing else, it is a blessing for the physical; 
and in every way it is a sort of stopping-place, where 
one may throw aside care for a while. This last Sunday 
was felt so very especially because I had withdrawn from 
a contest in my mind, and concluded to let things take 
their course without any effort of my will. 

Of course thee has heard we have decided to stay at 
Millbourne this summer, and, whether right or wrong, I 
have gained a comfortable feeling, an entire rest in my 
thoughts for the present. Perhaps this is only because 
it is easier to stay than to go, but I am inclined to think 
it is the right thing, — just because I feel quiet and at 
rest. To go back into the arguments for and against, 
my judgment is still the same, — that we ought not to 
risk another winter here; but so long as it is summer, 
I will not look forward to winter, or take into my own 
hands what is perhaps more wisely ordered for me. I 
am sure the way will be clearer when the time comes to 
go to West Philadelphia, but to take that heavy respon- 
sibility there must be something else than my own ad- 
vantage to justify the risk. I wonder how thee will feel 
about it, and I am sure thee will know how I hated to 
give up that cheerful house, but the deed is done, and 
now we will see what comes of it. . . . 

Millbourne, March 20th, 1878. 

Ah, Fin, it was rather hard to know thee was so near 
yesterday, and " yet so "far." Carrie came out in the 
evening with accounts of meeting thee, and thy quick 
return to Ridley Park. Kate and I are rivals now. 
One thing, she has the advantage over me in steadily 
keeping before thy mind an evil day, which will not 
come to me. There is no cause of uneasiness or even 
concern in this quarter, while she has always a claim 
upon thy sympathies, which it is impossible for me to 
reach. . . . 



1877 and 1878. 219 

One never likes to be put in the shade, even in sick- 
ness, and I hate to play second fiddle to a confinement. 
Such is life, however, and as I am winding up my un- 
profitable existence, Kate is beginning her career of use- 
fulness. Well, I am preparing for the life of an invalid; 
I got stuff for a new wrapper, and propose to go into this 
thing with system and regularity, and becoming 
dress. . . . 

I am laid up, to be sure, but with plenty of books, 
and no cares in the world excepting the ardent desire 
for a new wrapper. This has been furnished, and so 
happiness may well light upon my banner! Carrie talks 
largely of the necessity of my having somebody here at 
night, — what for I cannot imagine, for I cannot sleep 
with anybody; but she left me with the assurance that 
she and John would be out to-night, and that will re- 
lieve Sister M. from a similar call. . . . 

One learns a good deal of philosophy in a tedious 
sickness, and I know it will be greatly to my advantage 
to learn to depend on my own resources, which certainly 
enlarge the more they are made a reliance; and who 
wants to be an object of pity and continual solicitude? 
Not I! Neither do I want either " Sairey Gamp" or 
" Betsy Prigg " to " nuss " me " turn and turn about, 
one off, one on." 

(Afternoon.) — Well, Fin, I got tired writing, and 
had to take to my back on the bed for a while, but I 
rise like a Phoenix, and here I am " as good as gold 
passed through the furnace," as the immortal " Sairey " 
observes. My report to-day must be on the good side 
altogether, for I have had a respite from trouble for al- 
most twenty-four hours, and that is the best yet. I 
have to keep as quiet as a mouse, though, and in this 
wearisome waiting think of Mark Tapley in his troubles: 
" NoVs your time to come out strong — or never." 
" You'll never have a better opportunity of showing 



220 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

your jolly disposition." After all there is not much sat- 
isfaction in getting sick in such a very sympathetic 
family. I never can have much comfort in finding each 
individual in it playing the invalid too. Since I have 
been on the sick list, Father has fancied himself with 
one foot in the grave. He told me in confidence the 
other night that he very much doubted whether he 
would live to get his books handed in at the next meet- 
ing, which is just a week off. At the same time, he 
never was in better health than at present; has a large 
appetite, and is in every respect a model for many 
younger men. I told him that if it would be any en- 
couragement to him, I thought there was much more 
likelihood of his attending my funeral than of my going 
to his, at which he brightened up considerably. Then 
Maggie has a long list of ailments, and every time she 
comes into my room enlarges upon them, and thinks she 
will have to give up work altogether. I sent her off to 
the Doctor's, and she now takes every favorable oppor- 
tunity of telling all he said, and how she has something 
that men never have, — she " couldn't rightly remem- 
ber, but it sounded something like Cotter." After she 
had gone I racked my brain to think what she meant, 
and after a second interview, and with her ample ex- 
planations, find it is " goitre." Her neck is very much 
swollen, and she says the doctor told her nobody ever 
had " dyspepsy " worse, etc. It is the only pleasure she 
has, to retail her troubles to me, or to condole with mine 
by telling me all the dreadful cases she has known " held 
just like you, Miss Martha "; and I notice her examples 
come to a speedy end, or else, which is far worse, " lin- 
ger on 'till everybody is tired out." In any case the 
reports are not cheerful, and I am not at all anxious 
for her visits. John and Mary are my great delight, 
since they never bring into the sickroom anything but 



1877 and 1878. 221 

the most glowing reports of everybody and every 
place. . . . 

My letter has had another interruption in the way 
of a little refreshment, and as I have something to write 
for Sue's satisfaction I must do thee up on short notice. 
I am crazy to hear that Kate defies Dr. B/s prophecy, 
and is all through her trouble; and after gaining a repu- 
tation for thyself at a " lying-in/' thee can come to a 
" laying-out " at Millbourne, unless I get a new lease of 
life by that time. 

Love to Kate, and lots for thyself. 

Millbourne, July 1st, 1878. 

... I am glad dear Helen is going to have a little 
outing, and think even Mt. Cuba was better for thee 
than keeping in the same rut. That is the most demor- 
alizing of all, and we know that even a hard pull up hill 
is easier than a long dead level, which brings no hope 
with it, or feeling of accomplishment. My pull is not 
up hill, but if I can only keep up my courage with this 
dead level, it is the thing for me. I am in the lowest 
spot possible when I sew buttons on my shoes, so I may 
tell thee that has been my occupation this morning. 
The consequence is evident in this forlorn note. I keep 
steadily on being sick, which I began on Mary J/s wed- 
ding day, and as I get worse instead of better, thee will 
see it is not the buttons only that are depressing. . . . 

I have just put Father through a course, and have 
threatened to send him to the Insane Asylum. He has 
been weeding all morning, and not a dry thread on him. 
I had just regularly to undress him and dress him 
again. . . . 

Millbourne, July 11th, 1878. 

Well, Fin! she is a queer little thing to send me such 
a letter of commendation for something that is quite 
foreign to my nature. Please do not praise me for self- 



222 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

sacrifice, for it only humiliates me; and my proposition 
for you to come to Millbourne was as much, for my own 
pleasure and benefit as yours. I love to see invalids 
picking up, and if Eli were here, away from the possi- 
bility of Edge Moor, he would certainly get stronger. 
As soon as he was ready for a ride I should take him out 
privately, leaving poor Fin sobbing on the piazza. We 
would go to the Park with Greta, and hob-nob with our 
neighbors; we would have long talks and conferences 
that thee would be aching to know about; but we would 
keep our own counsel, and have a good time! I never did 
like these little impertinent questioners about, and when 
I get a chance at Eli, I do really enjoy it, and am not 
beholden to poor Fin for anything. To be sure, my 
sympathies are enlisted just now for her, because I know 
she wants a strong pull out of the slough of despond, 
and I am disposed at least to reach her the tip of my 
fingers; so do not make such a fuss about nothing. I 
truly do think a few days or a week at Millbourne might 
help Eli very much, and break the bonds that bind him 
to Wilmington, and prepare him for Bedford, which is 
undoubtedly worth trying. . . . 

For the past days Father has not been at all well, 
and he evidently thinks he will never be any better, 
but I have strong hopes he will be all right with the 
first good fresh breeze he can get. We, — Sue and I, — 
talk of going with him to Atlantic City on Saturday, to 
stay until Monday, and probably it will do him lots of 
good. . . . 

But there was. no going to Atlantic City. Father 
was not well enough, though not confined to his bed, 
and even not thought to be ill. Yet he himself knew 
that the end was approaching, and asked to see his ab- 
sent children. My husband had been quite ill, and 
when he was able to leave home we went to Cape May 



1877 and 1878. 223 

to stay with. Brother John in his cottage; and while 
there, Pattie wrote us of Father's indisposition. John 
and I went at once to Millbourne, and found Father out 
on the lawn, not complaining of anything, and looking 
less ill than we had feared. This was on Thursday, and 
we went back feeling encouraged, but on Saturday, 
July 20th, 1878, the sweet spirit of our dear Father 
passed into the higher life. . : . 

Because I want his great-grandchildren to know 
him and how he was appreciated by his neighbors and 
friends, I insert here a short account of him, taken from 
the " History of Delaware County/' 

John Sellers, the son of John and Mary Coleman 
Sellers, was born in Philadelphia, September 29th, 
1789, and died July 20th, 1878. His mother died when 
he was about five years old. In consequence of this 
great loss he spent most of his early life in the country, 
at the home of his grandfather (also John Sellers). 
This place, now known as " Sellers Hall," was part of 
the original tract of ground taken up by Samuel Sellers, 
the emigrant, and the present brief of title contains the 
form of original grant from William Penn. Here the 
family lived from generation to generation, and that 
part of it now known as Millbourne was the home of this 
John Sellers after his marriage, and is still in posses- 
sion of his sons. Country life was the ideal of all de- 
lights to his boyhood, and it was here, no doubt, that his 
love of nature was developed, which to his latest day was 
so strong a characteristic. Here he was sent to the 
common country schools, and obtained such education 
as they then afforded. His habits of observation 
opened up to him great fields of knowledge which were 
always extending, and the silent influences of nature 
were real teachers to him. He knew all kinds of wood 
lore, and every bird by its note, and all the habits of 
insect life. 



224 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

With the greatest simplicity of character he had an 
amount of latent strength which was not always sus- 
pected even by himself, but which made him always a 
reliance to his friends and neighbors. Even in early 
life he was often called upon to arbitrate in disputes, 
where his winning, persuasive manner and clear judg- 
ment had great influence. 

He learned the trade of a miller under Thomas 
Steel, who then had an old mill on Millbourne Place. 
In 1814 his father built for him a new mill up to the 
highest-known standard. Part of it is still standing, 
surrounded and overtopped by handsome additions and 
improvements, and is now known as Millbourne Mills. 
Much of the wood-work on the original mill was made 
by John Sellers and his mechanical father. He felt it 
a great responsibility to run this mill, and his modesty 
perhaps exaggerated his deficiencies in business knowl- 
edge. He took into it untiring energy and determina- 
tion, and gradually made it a success. His business 
principles were very simple, as his whole life was fitted 
to the groove of strictest justice. He had been brought 
up in accordance with the teachings of Friends, and to 
" observe moderation in all things " was a vital principle 
of religion to him. 

In 1817, at the age of twenty-seven, he married 
Elizabeth Poole, the eldest daughter of William Poole, 
of Wilmington, Del. In this choice he was most wisely 
directed, and the result might well confirm the suppo- 
sition that " all true marriages are made in heaven." 

It would be impossible to give any correct account 
of his life without including her in it. She was his 
counselor in everything, and he honored the whole sex 
for her sake. She had been the congenial companion 
of a very intellectual father, and she brought into her 
husband's home a wisdom beyond her years. She made 
his house a center of attraction in the neighborhood, 



1877 and 1878. 225 

hiding all defects with her lavish and bountiful nature. 
He often recounted their early experiences together, 
when economy was a necessity and all conveniences lack- 
ing, and how her cheerful spirit was a towering strength 
to him. He never entered into any business of import- 
ance without consulting her, and in recounting some 
losses it was often with the preface, " If I had minded 
what my wife said, this would not have happened." 

They had eleven children, three of whom died in in- 
fancy. The rest survive them. 

He made a strong protest against the use of alcohol 
in any form, and was the first in his neighborhood to 
do away with its use in the harvest fields. This was a 
most unpopular movement when it was thought to be 
the strength of the laborer and the promoter of cheer- 
ful endeavor. He had the courage of his principles, 
however, and by the promise of higher wages he carried 
his point, and set an example to his neighbors that was 
quickly followed. When anti-slavery doctrines were 
most abhorrent to the general public, he went into that 
cause with all his heart. His house was always open to 
its disciples, and the fugitive found there welcome and 
help on his way. He took liberal papers, and always 
cast his vote for the liberal party. He was an old-time 
Whig, and boasted that he never missed his vote at any 
election from the time of his majority. He considered 
it a sacred duty to attend the polls, and thought an 
American citizen unworthy the name who neglected this. 
He was chosen a delegate to the Free-Soil Convention 
which met in Buffalo in 1848. He deprecated the spirit 
of disunion found in some of the ultra abolitionists, and 
often said " the best way to abolish slavery would be to 
introduce the public-school system in the South." He 
was deeply interested in the cause of education, and at 
one time, with others of his neighbors, built a school- 
house, which they maintained for many years at their 



226 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

own expense. Here the best teachers were employed, 
and some of his own children received their entire edu- 
cation. When the free-school system was inaugurated 
this school-house became the property of Upper Darby, 
but continued its original name of the Union School, 
which it bears to this day. He was immediately chosen 
treasurer and director of the Upper Darby school dis- 
trict, which positions he held until the last years of his 
life. Many other positions of trust were given him; he 
was treasurer of three different road companies at one 
time, and was several times an administrator to large 
estates. In these duties he was deeply interested, and 
faithfully performed them. 

In 1859 he had the misfortune to lose his wife, and 
the close companionship of forty years was broken. 
Together they had borne " the burden and heat of the 
day," and now that the resting time had come hers was 
" in larger, other worlds than ours." He was a man 
of few words, and all his principles forbade repining, 
but his life was shorn of its brightness. 

Loved by everybody, he especially delighted in 
young people, and naturally attracted many to his 
house, so that it was never other than a cheerful home. 
He firmly believed in making it so. He was a member 
of Darby Monthly Meeting, and, according to the usage 
among Friends, all his children had birthright member- 
ship in this Society. Twice a week, all his life, did he 
faithfully attend meeting. His creed was " to do justly, 
to love mercy, and to walk humbly before God," and all 
who knew him confess that he made it practical. He 
would sometimes listen to long discussions on theo- 
logical points, but with great humility regret that he 
did not understand much about them. He said, "If 
we all tried to live so that we could look back on each 
act with satisfaction, that would be a good enough re- 
lioion." To those who knew him best it would seem 



1877 and 1878. 227 

impossible that regret or remorse could ever have been 
his portion. 

His health was perfect, from which fact he derived 
great pleasure. At one time, when nearly eighty years 
of age, he walked to and from meeting, a distance of 
about eight miles, without apparent effort. His love of 
reading was maintained to his latest day, and his delight 
in nature never waned. He became the patriarch of his 
meeting, and died full of honors in the community on 
the 20th day of July, 1878, aged eighty-nine. His life 
was a very simple one, without incident or pretension, 
but from beginning to end was full of sweetness and in- 
struction. 

The following extract from a county paper is em- 
bodied, as concisely estimating his character: 

" He was a member of the society of Friends, wor- 
shiping at Darby Meeting, and was one of the very few 
remaining of the old members of that meeting. Never 
ambitious for political preferment, he did not ask pub- 
lic applause, living in the practice of the belief that the 
post of honor is the private station. In the anti-slavery 
cause he was an active worker, and his efforts on be- 
half of the down-trodden knew no cessation until the 
work of emancipation was completed and the legitimate 
fruits of the triumph assured. His goodness of heart 
and Christian character endeared him to those of all 
creeds and professions. He was liberal in all things, 
ever looking beyond the present for his reward. With 
him, through life, whatever was worth doing was worth 
doing well. If he was not great in the eyes of the world, 
he was something better, for he found in his congenial 
calling an ample field for the generous disposition of his 
heart. Throughout his long career, in every relation of 
life, he set for us an example worthy of study and imi- 
tation. As a husband, father and friend he not only 
practiced with rigorous exactness the duties of those 



228 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

relations, but invested them with such gentleness of 
temper and grace of manner as added nneommon charm 
and beanty to his daily life, and strongly endeared him 
to all who were privileged to be related to or connected 
with him. It was onr pleasure to know the deceased 
for the past forty years, and the invaluable advice and 
many kind suggestions received from him will ever be 
remembered. None among the many who were ac- 
quainted with John Sellers and the unstinted kindness 
of his never-failing considerateness, will feel that we 
have at all exaggerated the solid worth of an honorable 
citizen, a firm friend, and a good man." 



EXTRACT FROM A LETTEE TO MISS A. A. PEARSON" IN THE 
SUMMER OF 1878. 

" I am so sorry for Miss Sellers. A great loss to you 
all, but to her so great it cannot be measured. I am 
glad he did not surfer long, and should not like to think 
of his beautiful face drawn by pain, or his form 
wasted by a lingering sickness. 

" I wish I could give you a picture of Mr. Sellers 
that I always see when I think of him. He had come 
to see you one perfect June morning, and was about 
leaving when I came into the library. He stood in the 
door, and the breath of June just moving his beautiful 
hair called my attention to his face particularly. Such 
a perfect face as his was. I thought of Samuel as he 
stood in the congregation and asked those who 
had aught against him to come forward, and none came. 
Looking at Mr. Sellers' face as he stood there, I knew 
how Samuel felt when he came forward, and I wondered 
where any improvement could be made in his counte- 
nance when he should have his new body." 



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1877 and 1878. 229 

letter from m. s. to f. s. g. 

Millbourne, July 25th, 1878. 
... It seems to me I am just beginning to wake up, 
and in part to realize the change that. has come upon 
this home. Everything goes on as usual, but, oh, with 
such a difference! A feeling of uncertainty in every- 
thing pervades my mind, — a dread of doing the wrong 
thing; a wish for guidance, and an unutterable dread of 
change. Last night when John came out I felt as if it 
might be to propose the breaking up of this establish- 
ment at once, and a sickening sense of no home came 
over me, and continually haunts me night and day. Of 
course I know the time must come when the way will 
open more clearly to me and to everyone, but the silent 
support I have from brothers and sisters is very com- 
forting. I seem to grope blindly for everything, and the 
only way for me to do is to live a day at a time. I had 
such a sweet letter from Helen yesterday, and she is as 
good as gold; always doing just the right thing, and 
saying something suggestive. . . . 



CHAPTER XIII. 

1880, 1881, 1882. 

The breaking up of the Millbourne home in De- 
cember, 1878, was heart-rending enough to all concerned, 
and I find I have destroyed all the letters written at that 
time. Of course we all felt deeply what it must mean 
to Pattie, and different ones of her brothers and sisters 
offered her a home with them, but she refused all the 
offers: " She must have a home of her own; Father 
expected her to do so, else why did he leave her all the 
household goods?" and so in January, 1879, a house 
was taken in West Philadelphia, 119 North Thirty-third 
street, near Arch. It was a very pretty, attractive 
house, and to enable her to live there she concluded to 
take a few boarders. Her nephew, William F. Sellers, 
and a friend of his, Mr. T. Carpenter Smith, with three 
other gentlemen, made their home with her. That she 
made it truly a home for all was evidenced by the kindly 
feeling felt for her. 

In November, 1879, my husband had to go abroad 
on business, and I accompanied him. Her letters were 
not as frequent during this time, as her cares were many, 
but in January, 1880, she wrote me: 

... I so seldom write letters now that my ideas do 
not flow in the old free fashion, but thee will not look 
out for defects, and perhaps in that case I may pass mus- 
ter. Reading and writing both seem things of the past 
to me. I seem to drift into marketing and sich as 
though they were my natural element. I have been in 
such an awfully low spot my best friends would not 
recognize me, but I cured myself up on New Year's day 



1880, 1881, 1882. 231 

by a quiet little trip out to Millbourne. It is the first 
time I have been down to myself for so long, I hardly 
knew what I was; oh, but it did look lovely out there, 
and as I walked around the house, so absolutely deserted, 
I thought of Jean Ingelow's "Dead Year." I took a 
year out of my life and story, — "a dead year." 
Doesn't thee remember it? 

" Year," I said, and turned away, 
" I am free of thee this day; 

All that we two only know 

I forgive and I forego 

So thy face no more I meet 

In the field or in the street." 



But the dead year, stiff and stark, 

Drew me to her in the dark, 

Crying out, " How ean I part 

With the best share of my heart? " etc., etc. 

I felt a sort of solemn pleasure in going around that 
deserted home, and since I never can have the associa- 
tions to make a home again, it is no wonder I sometimes 
get a sort of homesickness, which has no reason in it; 
for I would not if I could go back to Millbourne. It is 
Death in Life out there, — 

And I sat between, 

Waiting my own heart to wean; 

Waited with a patient will, 

And I wait between them still. 

Every bush and tree which I had planted appealed to 
me, and all the wandering vines, and darkened win- 
dows, and closed doors, made me feel as if we were all 
of us wanderers, and could never get back into the fold. 
Not a living thing was on the place, and yet it did me 
good to be there. A sweet spirit pervades the very air, 
and Father's gentle face was ever before me. I have 
long since forbidden my thoughts this natural resting- 
place; and so when I looked at Millbourne it was so 



232 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

perfect a picture of desolation, separation, and isola- 
tion, that I got comfort out of its quietness and peace. 

I went up to Mrs. Mock's, who greeted me with open 
arms, and said, "And then she didn't forget the old 
woman, did she?" as if I could forget anything con- 
nected with Millbourne. Well! I came home at peace, 
and took up the line of march again, and found strength 
to keep above myself; and that is infinite comfort. 



In the summer of 1880 she had a severe spell of ill- 
ness, and in August she went to Atlantic City. August 
13th she writes: 

Thy letter, dear Fin, was a most acceptable reminder 
of " The girl I left behind me," and came when I was 
needing some connecting link with the outside world. 
It is a pretty forlorn way of getting well, to come to 
Atlantic City, but I guess it will be effectual with me if 
sleeping and eating are the foundation of good health. 
It seems to me I would sleep all the time if I were al- 
lowed to do so, and my brain is in such a sluggish con- 
dition that no ideas can enter; so I keep my room most 
of the time and just vegetate. .... 

In September, 1880, Mr. T. C. Smith's aunt and sis- 
ter came from Edinboro to visit him at her house, and 
she writes, September 28th: 

Thy note was most welcome, for it showed thee had 
not dropped me out of thy anxious cogitations, and I like 
to lean on somebody, but look around in vain for any 
legitimate support but myself. It is very nice to feel 
my strength coming back, but it is slow, uphill work, 
and I cannot have any confidence in myself yet. . . . 

Mr. Smith's friends leave on Monday for Baltimore. 
Thee sees we are then reduced to two in the family, and 



1880, 1881, 1882. 233 

then will be the time for thee to put in thy helpful oar 
in searching up a home for me. I do not want to leave 
the neighborhood, as thee knows, but there seems noth- 
ing offering within my means, and I am determined 
not to saddle myself with a house when boarders must 
be the only means of my living there. The truth is, 
Fin, I am not strong, and I guess I am breaking down 
in a general sort of a way, and it forces me to think of 
more ease for my old bones. 

Mr. Smith will be with me as long as he is in Phila- 
delphia, but a young man is a very uncertain possession, 
and so I must think of that. It seems to me anything 
would be better than boarding, for which I have an in- 
stinctive abhorrence from its restrictions, and its want 
of centre for me. Enough of all this; it is just going 
over the same weary round of thought, which keeps me 
awake at night, and continually haunts me with a feel- 
ing of unrest. I try to put it aside altogether while 
these folks are here, but it is not easily banished. 

Thee would be delighted with Lena. She is lovely; 
bright as you find them, and altogether companionable 
and pleasant. It is lovely to see Mr. Smith's enjoyment 
in her and hers in him, and her music is a delight to us 
all. Youth! youth! — it is captivating to me. I can- 
not help wishing she could stay here with her brother, 
for they enjoy each other so much, and she is really so 
spicy and bright we shall quite miss her. . . . She sews 
and knits like an old woman, and plays and sings, and 
does everything light and fancy as if it were the one 
thing in the world she lived for. Mr. Smith has gone 
to work. I miss him awfully, and feel as if they did too. 

Do come up, Fin, and let me show off my relations; 
write or do something. 

We all recognized, by this time, that Pattie's health 
was such that she could not stand the strain of provid- 



234 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ing for such a family. Yet knowing her desire for a 
home of her own, we were all anxious in regard to her. 
Brother John's family were in Europe, and while she 
was weighing the pro's and con's of giving up the 
house, it was suggested that she should join them in 
France, making use of the opportunity for company of 
Mr. Smith's friends going back to England. It was only 
a few days before they were to sail, and she scoffed at 
the idea as an impossibility; but Sister Mary, who was 
her counselor, urged her to do it. The way seemed to 
have closed as to her keeping the home she then had, 
and the pertinent question of what she should do if she 
did not go was staring her in the face. -The decision was 
made suddenly at last, and our surprise was great when, 
on the morning of October 5th, 1880, a telegram came 
from Sister Mary saying Pattie would go to Baltimore 
that night to sail next day for Europe with Mr. Smith's 
friends. After she left, her three sisters dismantled her 
house, stored the furniture, and closed the experiment, 
which had been too much for her strength. 

The letters she wrote from Europe during the win- 
ter of 1880, and until May, 1881, were in the shape of 
a round robin, and were sent to different ones of the 
family, and were expected to answer for all; conse- 
quently I have no letters referring to her experiences 
there. She returned in May, 1881, and in December, 
1881, she rented the house 3303 Hamilton street. Mr. 
T. C. Smith was only too glad to make his home with 
her again, and she commenced housekeeping on a 
smaller scale, and enjoyed her home as only she could. 
The spirit of improvement is a family trait in direct 
descent from our Mother, and she found very much was 
needed in this little house to make it as comfortable as 
she desired, and the landlord was unwilling to put any 
repairs upon it. In November, 1883, our brother Wil- 
liam purchased the house and presented it to her, and in 



1880, 1881, 1882. 235 

March, 1884, he put such improvements upon it as she 
desired, making it not only more convenient hut more 
attractive. It was a tiny house, but I think she made it 
one of the prettiest, brightest, and most individual 
homes I ever saw. Mr. Smith was always aiding and 
abetting her in all she did for it, and while she made it 
a happy home for him, he made it possible for her to 
have many comforts and improvements she could not 
otherwise have had. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 23d, 1881. 

... I went to hear Mr. May read an article on 
" Keflex Action and Theism." I was spoken to twice 
for thee, and Mr. May insisted on calling me Mrs. Gar- 
rett, so now thee knows the intellectual status thee has 
with thy friends. It was too deep for me, but probably 
thy powerful mind could have grasped it. A cold 
stream of water down my back might convey its par- 
alyzing effect. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 23d, 1881. 

Does thee know anything about Mintie, whether she 
is to be had for love or money, Or if there is any other 
faithful creature to turn up for my domestic comfort? 
Katie has actually gone, but would fain have stayed at 
the last. She said it was like death to part with me, 
etc. In her place I have one Clementine Adams, a col- 
ored individual of irreproachable dignity; she has taught 
school in Wilmington, and is deep in some literary 
matter whenever she gets a chance. She has kept house, 
and done nursing, and brings reference from Provi- 
dence, E. I., of several years' standing. She thinks she 
knows everything, and so far as I can see she is a hollow 
fraud; but perhaps she ranks among thy literary friends 
in Wilmington, so I say no more. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 27th, 1881. 

My Christmas was a great success, and thy remem- 
brance just the thing I wanted. My knit shoes had just 



236 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

regretfully been laid aside, but I took care to keep them 
about until thee saw their delapidated condition. Oh, 
I know what I am about! I have sounded the heights 
and depths of friendly relations, and when Annie and 
Sellers gave me two beautiful enameled glass bottles, 
they told me I had brought it on myself by constantly 
alluding to my lost ones in their presence! John and 
Carrie must have drawn the same inference, for they 
sent me a pair of cut-glass bottles for my bureau, and 
Sister Mary sent me a small nest of Japanese boxes, 
which she called a "box of possibilities." On opening 
it, I found underneath three of these small boxes a five- 
dollar gold piece, which as thee sees made it very valu- 
able; and I am distracting my mind day and night now 
to know how to spend it. Probably I shall put it with 
thine in bank, ready for some emergency; to bail me 
out if I get into the station-house. . . . 

I wish thee could see the top of the melodeon. It 
is covered with beautiful cards, and other small gifts, 
thy shoes on a pinnacle of books, and Helen's photo 
surveying the whole with an approving glance. Sue 
sent me a Japanese coffee-pot, and Lizzie Sellers a brass 
water-kettle for the table; and Mildred a knitting-bas- 
ket; and I received other things from different folks too 
numerous to mention. I tore myself away from the 
contemplation of these yesterday to go see Mintie, who 
lives in that large house on Spring Garden street. 
When I got there I was struck with the absurdity of 
asking for " Mintie/' — such a funny name without 
anything to finish it off with, — but the colored boy 
said, "Mintie Apple?" and I said "Yes," at random. 
Well, she came into the entry, and my back being to the 
light she called me Mrs. Garrett at once, or I would not 
have been sure of her identity. It was most unfavor- 
able for any conference on the girl subject, and I believe 
Mintie considers it a Christmas call! Not knowing who 



1880, 1881, 1882. 237 

was in the open rooms, and being looked on with sus- 
picion from above stairs, I was guarded in my remarks; 
but she entertained me by asking after all the " f amly," 
and sending a special message to Annie in regard to her 
Christmas present, which she had not forgotten. I told 
her Mrs. Garrett thought she might know someone who 
would suit me; some of her friends from Dover perhaps. 
She received this suggestion in the most affable man- 
ner, and said, " Oh, yes! Mrs. G-a't knows Fve got lots 
of friends down there, but there ain't none of them 
looking for places just now." She followed me to the 
door, and apologized for calling me Mrs. G-a't! but I 
assured her I felt highly complimented, which I do. 
Having lost that string to my bow, I went on into Liz- 
zie Biggins' s, who had sent me word she had a good girl 
for me. Well, I was introduced to Charlotte Williams, 
the ugliest darkey I think I ever saw, but being a little 
nearer my level in point of behavior than the present 
incumbent, she was engaged on the spot. My literary 
cook has a high sense of propriety, and is perfectly un- 
moved by the thought of Charlotte coming. She says: 
" Of course, Miss Sellers, you must suit yourself; but 
I have yet to see wherein I fail to do my duty!" She is 
certainly head and shoulders above me in choice ex- 
pressions, but I would much rather have less grammar, 
and more good bread. 

Tote and I are both starving since Kate left, but I 
am not quite brought to the point of wishing her back, 
she being so very uncertain a comfort. 

3303 Hamilton Street, May 6th, 1882. 
Thy small letter, with Helen's, has just reached me, 
and being in rather a tender state of mind, I have had 
an additional boo-hoo in reading them. Of course I 
thoroughly appreciate all this kindness, but I would far 
rather you were cross to me now, as I think it might 



238 THE STORY OE A LIFE. ■ 

stiffen me up a little. As to my bonnet, I do not think 
I could be persuaded to try one on in my present 
bunged-up appearance, so Helen need not come up on 
that account. Let her wait until after Monday anyway, 
for I want to be tolerably decent when she comes. It is 
very kind for her to interest herself about getting Mr. 
H. here, but everything is so very uncertain with me 
now that I think maybe it would be better to wait until 
I turn things around iu my mind as to what would be 
best in the way of keeping on. All the same I am ever 
so much obliged for the kind thought, and will be glad 
to try to live up to Helen's recommend. 

Mr. Smith may possibly be delayed on Monday on 
account of his pass from Altoona, but I am not anxious 
for any delays. The parting will be pretty hard for 
both, but we both realize that it is best and right, so it 
ought to turn out well. Our friendship is so natural 
and dependable that I hardly know where to look for 
anything in its place; certainly I cannot expect such 
constant care and kindness from anybody else; but not 
the least of the trial to me is the fact that he has done 
so much to build up this home, which he must now give 
up. Not many boys have such a strong domestic ten- 
dency; and I am like little Clip in " Uncle Daniel ": "I 
feel as anxious as if I were his mother." 

It is rather too dark in every way now, — literally 
and figuratively, — for me to write any more, but I have 
no words to express my thankfulness for the cordial 
tone of your letters, and hope you will keep the welcome 
for me until I shall feel more like accepting it. Noth- 
ing could be nicer, Fin, than to try to cultivate thy mind 
and garden too, but I must get up to par first, and then 
I shall tear and grub to my heart's content. 

Now how would it be for thee to come up and stay 
a few days here if Helen doesn't feel like it? I will for- 
give the bonnet, if I have thy wisdom thrown in on 
dresses. 



1880, 1881, 1882. 239 

3303 Hamilton Street, July 13th, 1882. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, was here to greet me on my ar- 
rival home late last evening. I wish it had been thee thy- 
self, for then my clear mind would grasp the situation 
better than in this way. I came home from West Ches- 
ter a little sooner, in order to fulfil an engagement at 
Harrisburg which has been dovetailed in to suit the 
comings and goings of the Wierman family. I am 
rather in hopes I can be at home over Sunday, but all 
depends on a letter from Susie in the morning. As to 
thy plan of a visit to Wilmington, I cannot fit it in at 
all at this time. Besides, I do not think thee ought to 
have anybody for some time. 

It is useless for thee to be playing kitten tricks in the 
way thee has this summer, with youth and beauty and 
talent as thy surroundings; but garden parties, and din- 
ners, and teas, and picnics are not a good preparation for 
health and strength with thee, and thee is near enough 
being an old cat not to be so frisky. I hear the wildest 
reports of thee, and the most energetic of thy acquaint- 
ances marvel how much Fanny Garrett can do. No 
wonder thee begins to feel thy mind giving way, and to 
plan a visit at Ellerslie, — the last thing I would recom- 
mend for failing powers. Just return into thy closet, 
and if I were going to be at home that closet would be 
represented by 3303, where quietness reigns and stu- 
pidity flourishes. The discipline of life is quite different 
with us, and to live entirely and absolutely alone would 
be an impossibility, I am sure, to thy social nature. 
Even I give out sometimes, and wish I had a house full 
of children to bring life about me, and make my home 
a little more bewitching to everybody. One- tires even 
of Maggie's society, and I have studiously avoided her 
for some time, hoping that absence may make the heart 
grow fonder! 

I had a lovely visit to West Chester, and renewed my 



240 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

youth by going to all the places I used to visit with Un- 
cle William and Annt Hannah on their yearly pilgrim- 
age to visit relations. Mrs. Brooks thought I had been 
a wonderful visitor in my youth, as at every other house 
I had either taken dinner, or tea, or slept; and she said 
it would be a suitable time to make my party calls! I 
received the best kind of a welcome from everybody, — 
more on Father's and Mother's account than my own; 
but old Grandmother Darlington and I became bosom 
friends, and she is coming to make me a visit this fall. 
She said my visit was " a great refreshment " to her; so 
now, Fin, thee sees how nice I am; and I hope thee will 
feel thoroughly miserable when thee finds thyself de- 
prived of my lovely society. Never mind, Fin, there is 
a time coming when this great favor will be bestowed 
upon thee; but not until after thee gets back from Bed- 
ford, I guess. . . . 

I do want to see thee, and it seems as if we were 
every year getting farther apart. Oh, there is not much 
use in having a large family, for they are sure to be 
scattered and separated by one thing or another. Every 
household is sufficient for itself, and the most absorbing 
interests are naturally there, and so it goes. Sister 
Mary and I go around hand-in-hand still, but my other 
sisters are in the wild pursuit of pleasures that we know 
not of; and, therefore, we feel as if we were living the 
life of nuns in comparison. I will let thee knew if I 
go to Harrisburg, and must stop off this note now to go 
down to Sister Mary's, where I am invited to take my 
frugal meal. No deviled crabs, or fine display of other 
gorgeous dishes, but " in sweet content our days are 
spent " without these worldly allurements. Oh, I have 
heard what you have for your suppers, and how " the 
most reshersha entertainments are given by Mrs. Eli 
Garrett, who presides with grace and dignity, and is the 
life of the circle in which she moves." It is folly to 



1880, 1881, 1882. 241 

ask me into this vortex of fashion, for my conclusion 
now is that I am an incumbrance on the earth, and must 
hide myself. Good-bye, now, and try to rest from thy 
labors. 

3303 Hamilton Street, September 1st, 1882. 

Thy little note, my dear Fin, must be answered in 
spite of this hot, mucky, sticky evening. I only have to 
tell thee that I have given up cooking to make thy mind 
quite relieved about me. I found I should soon give 
out, and after Maggie paid her parting respects, she be- 
gan to be invested with virtues not her own! However, 
I do not really regret her decision, and believe it was 
only anticipating mine. I went across to Lydia Pike's 
to inquire about a girl, who proved to be a myth; but she 
suggested we should take our meals there, thirty cents 
a meal for each, which is about as cheap as I could get 
them up here, not to mention wear and tear on my old 
bones. I closed with this proposition immediately, and 
we went over last night to tea, and to breakfast this 
morning, and I ate about as much at one meal as I had 
done all the time since I left thy hospitable board. Thee 
sees, Fin, I was born for the parlor, not for the kitchen, 
and I could not even help Tom as much as if stews and 
messes of dishes were not on my mind. His eye is im- 
proving, but he cannot use it at all, and goes about look- 
ing like a tramp. He has to see the doctor twice a day, 
which is the only real occupation he has, and most unfor- 
tunately I cannot read aloud now without great goneness 
in my chest. Oh, Fin, I am a poor decrepit wreck of 
my former self, and as one after one my charms leave 
me, I fall back very tenderly upon past appreciation. 
Please do not remember any of my present deficiencies, 
or thee may not care for my visit as much as I want thee 
to. Do not for a minute think I have given it up, but 
it must be put off quite indefinitely. 



242 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

Tom is as anxious to get back to work as is good for 
him; indeed, far too anxious, the doctor says; but what 
wonder, when time hangs so heavily in this forced blind- 
ness. He is charmed to be home, and I am abundantly 
satisfied that I came, for as thee says he certainly de- 
serves all the comforts of a home he has done so much 
to build up. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, September 30th, 1882. 

Well, Fin, I do not know what to say about coming 
down to Wilmington again. It seems to me as if you 
must all be tired of it by this time, for I count up my 
small trips in that direction, and have hardly fingers 
enough to do it. Sister Mary and I are just going out 
to Darby to stay all night with Alice, and on Monday 
Annie Patterson is coming up for a few days. I think, 
now, I will get down to your house the last of next week, 
but there is no use to plan much with a new girl that I 
do not want to lose. She has no head of any kind, but 
then she has willing hands and feet, and I think I can 
make something of her if I give my " powerful mind " 
to it for a few weeks. Under these circumstances, it 
would be much better to stay at home; but I think I 
will wind her up to run for a week, and get my visit with 
you. In the meantime, if you find the Cohens are com- 
ing, please let me know, for there is no use in having 
too much of even a good thing! 

Now that the girls are home, your tongues will know 
no stop, and I will only sit by with open eyes and mouth. 
Habit is strong, and having no talking to do to anybody 
but Tote and Katie, even my ideas are contracted, and 
my tongue stiff for want of use. 

If any of you come up to Philadelphia this week, be 
sure to come out here, or I will never darken your doors ! 

I had a nice visit from Lizzie and Mildred this week, 
and some young folks in the evening — Howard and the 



1880, 1881, 1882. 243 



inevitable Frank C. and M. K, A. and H. T. We did 
nothing but talk about babies, and Frank and Howard 
looked like geese, and felt that way,- no doubt. There 
are not many mothers as sensible as Kate Febiger, who 
could entertain a room full without even mentioning her 
children. 

No more time for chatting; I must keep my ap- 
pointment with Sis, and say good-bye. 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 8th, 1882. 
... A letter from T. C. Smith says he has accepted 
an offer made him by Riehl Brothers, of Philadelphia, 
and will begin work there on the 16th. He proposes 
to make his home here, of course, but it is yet to be 
seen how this can be done with his work at Mnth and 
Master. It will involve the necessity of some manage- 
ment on my part to get the early breakfast a settled in- 
stitution, and if it only turns out the right thing, I will 
have my reward abundantly. Dear me, I do not wonder 
at the anxiety of mothers when their sons start out in 
the world, for even by adoption it is a little wearing. 
Wait until Frank goes off all by his lones, and thee will 
be glad if some old lady turns up to look after him in 
the land of strangers, will thee not? Mr. Smith's sis- 
ters are writing most earnestly to me on this subject, 
and altogether I feel quite a responsibility. I have just 
finished writing a letter to calm their anxieties, and I 
know the next one from them will be in great thankful- 
ness that he is " back home again." . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 13th, 1882. 

Truly, dear Fin, there is no time but the present, 
no opportunity but the one just presented, and no 
chance for any calculations on the future. Thy calm 
acquiescence in the turn things have taken shows that 



244 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

we think alike, and there is not the slightest use in 
making plans. 

I am glad I persisted in going to your house at the 
time of the Sharpless picnic, or else I would have had 
no visit at all. ISTow, the necessity of getting up linens, 
and cleaning house generally, stares me in the face, and 
thy words of wisdom fall upon my believing heart! It 
is true, I make myself trouble by trying to keep things 
for which I have no immediate use; but having tried 
selling off old duds, I come back to the lingering senti- 
ment, that I cannot quite shake off. It is foolish; but, 
dear me, I never pretended to be wise! To-day Mr. 
Smith off ended me greatly by throwing aside with dis- 
dain an old square which Father used to use with rever- 
ent touch, for his father used it before him. We were 
clearing out the tool-room with thy words fresh upon my 
mind, but the first practical working filled me with hor- 
ror. That such desecration as this should go unre- 
proved was impossible. " The idea of throwing that 
into the scrap heap! It is surely useful, for my Father 
used it continually." And with the hardihood of youth 
T. C. S. said: " It is not worth a thing; it is at least a 
thirty-second of an inch out! " — as if I cared for that. 
I told him it had nice little bright brass ends, and I had 
always been used to thinking it was so nice; that Father 
and I used to cut out oilcloth by it, and we " assumed a 
point," and always thought we were just right if we 
had that square. He laughed, and said " sentiment 
wouldn't make it square "; but I kept it nevertheless. 
Then he threw Grandfather's old snuff-box into the pile 
of refuse, and an old brass thimble, and the very peg he 
used for husking corn, and even a few trinkets in a little 
tin box, etc., and I was completely disgusted with him, 
because he reminded me of my recent resolution to keep 
only what was useful. Such G-radgrind spirits must in- 
deed live in some other body than mine; but I sent him 



1880, 1881, 1882. 245 

off to town, and quietly collected all these old things 
and kept them out of reach of his profane touch ! Now, 
this is to show that my spirit is willing but the flesh is 
weak. Next week, however, I am going to harden my 
heart. I am going into vandalism with a perfect loose- 
ness. It has always been my ambition to have a place to 
store little things in which there is a sentiment to me 
and to no one else. I have put this feeling by contin- 
ually here, and have despoiled innumerable possessions 
by giving to the needy; but some things have no value 
in themselves, and yet are in their very familiarity valu- 
able to me. Now, with this lingering feeling in my heart, 
I know I am my Father's daughter; but I never have car- 
ried the sentiment quite so far as he did, and willingly 
destroy what has once been useful, which he never did. 
How I used to laugh at him for this, and how, finally, 
he felt quite relieved when his little scraps were taken 
out of his drawer and were no longer in his way. Thee 
will have to come and destroy things for me, I guess; 
but I cannot have youthful impertinence to deal with. 
If I only had a garret! . . . 

I have not touched very deeply upon house-cleaning 
yet, for it only brings fresh destruction, and I feel as if 
things were generally going at loose ends. Just give me 
time, Fin, and I will come down to first principles; but 
it cannot all be done at once. 

This morning I went down to look after Sister Mary. 
She has a bad cold, and I sat by my comfortable fire in 
all this damp weather, knowing she thought she was 
warm enough without. She has not a luxurious nature; 
she always thinks she can do without, and I feel as if 
the time would never come for pure indulgence for her. 
She doesn't mean to sacrifice herself; but she goes with- 
out fire when she ought to have it, and wonders how 
she has rheumatism and a bad cough. Then Steve 
looks so thin and hollow in the chest, and they do not 



246 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

know much about sickness, and altogether they are a 
weight on my mind. Then Alice Pearson looks so frail, 
and has these spells of oppression, and sometimes it 
seems to me as if the bottom were dropping out of every- 
thing. ... I will shake all this off, I guess, when I run 
rampant through my household goods, but I might as 
well begin now to set my house in order, and mark all 
my things for distribution, for we will all be dead and 
buried pretty soon, and what is the use? 

There now, Fin, I am done, and thee may laugh at 
me if thee will; but sentiment has its pleasures as well as 
its pains and sacrifices, although I wish I had none. 

We will make no plans for my visit, dear Fin. I 
could not possibly go now, although not at all on Mr. 
Smith's account; he is not on my mind at all if he only 
gets along well at E/s. Early breakfast and late sup- 
pers will not, however, destroy my satisfaction in hav- 
ing him. He is here, and that is enough for both of us 
just now. I truly think there is infinite comfort in hu- 
man companionship, particularly if it is not noticed 
much until it is taken away. I could go away very eas- 
ily, so far as he is concerned, and shall do so when I get 
things into working order. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 9th, 1882. 

Well, Fin, here I am at home again, and find, some- 
how, there is something wanting to my entire content. 
It does not do for me to live in a full household like 
yours, as I am sure to miss the companionship when I 
get back. Well, in every other respect my visit was a 
great success. I hung up my new clothes in the closet 
with great satisfaction, though my red dress is still too 
big, and one sleeve doesn't fit as well as the other. Still, 
these are trifles that even I can alter, and I cannot help 
thanking you all for the part you bore in my successful 



1880, 1881, 1882. 247 

dressmaking. Above all, in the lift I got by the little 
outing. 

I was received with overwhelming welcome by 
Katie and Tote, and afterward by Tom, and in the even- 
ing we went down to call on Sister Mary and Anna, at 
Sellers's; found Annie all alone, as Sis and Anna had 
taken up their new quarters. It was too late to go down 
there, so I went the next morning, and found Sis wait- 
ing for Anna to come out of town with some pictures. 
This morning T. C. S. and I spent there hanging these 
pictures, and giving the benefit of my experience in cur- 
tains, etc. I think she will be very comfortable there, 
and she says the table is very good and inviting. . . . 

I have just finished the first volume of Bayard Tay- 
lor, and after poor Mary Agnew is disposed of he still 
finds increasing interest in life. I think his wife must 
have been a solid kind of dependence, which he appreci- 
ated, for he seemed very happy, and did not go off into 
such wild flights as before. I wish I had the poet's 
journal to read, but I did not look at the book thee lent 
me to read on the way home. It was enough for me to 
look at the lovely light, and the long shadows on the 
hills, as we flew along. I feel now as if it would be im- 
perative to take a run in the country every week. One 
never knows how near starved we may be without some 
such awakening. How easily we get into the old rut of 
staying at home, and keeping busy; but I mean to turn 
over a new leaf just from my experience with your re- 
freshing company. 

Love to each and all, not forgetting Chellie. Good- 
night. 



CHAPTEE XIV. 

188 4, 1885, 1886. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 20th, 1884. 

... I received a note from George yesterday, tell- 
ing me he had made an appointment with the Pen- 
nock Brothers to meet him here at 3 o'clock to-morrow. 
This is at William's request, for, after having Mr. 
Doan's estimate, he wants to get another for comparison. 
George says the estimate furnished by Mr. Doan for the 
plan which William approves was $2600, and for the 
plan he likes (that is, moving the stairs) would be $200 
more! Now, I sincerely hope he will not urge this; 
there are as many reasons against it as for it, and the 
extra money in it would be much better spent in some 
other way, I think. Still, I feel rather helpless in the 
matter. I do not want to go back on George, who has 
done so much, and I still more strongly object to being 
put in a false position to William, and to seem as if I 
were thinking him " fair game/' which I abhor. 

On Tuesday evening we went to see Ellen Terry and 
Irving in "Much Ado About Nothing." Ellen Terry 
is fascinating, but as a lover Irving is not a success. 
Entirely too smeary for my taste. I would rather see 
either of them in " The Merchant of Venice," and we 
have gravely consulted about the propriety of being 
reckless enough to take tickets for Friday night, — go- 
ing Jersey fashion, of course. Fortunately or unfor- 
tunately, as it may be, Professor Barker holds forth that 
night on electricity, and as that is quite in the line of 
business to T. C. S., I think it is more than likely we 
will not see Ellen Terry again. . . . 



1884, 1885, 1886. 249 

I have just returned from a visit to Dr. Thomas 
about my throat. He is treating it by alternately swab- 
bing it out, and firing a powder into it that goes up into 
my nose. Each one of these plans is worse than the 
other, but I must hold on to the small remnant of voice 
I have left. He never talks any, but he no doubt thinks 
I am dumb. Still, I am " a chiel amang them taken 
notes," and if I had a chance could make thee laugh 
over these visits. 

3303 Hamilton Street, May 16th, 1884. 

Seated upon a spot removed from whitewash and 
scrubbing, I must thank my dear little Fin for her small 
letter enclosing Sary's. I am beset on every side this 
week, not because of the stress of house-cleaning, but 
from the demands upon my brain where to put any- 
thing. The moral of this is, never take a house without 
a garret! I lay awake at night thinking where to put 
woolens, where moth and rust, and damp and decay will 
not touch them. I wake up in the morning with mental 
indigestion, wondering if I am crazy or only going to be. 

Well, I have no time to talk to thee when Katie and 
I are engaged to do the work of five women to-day and 
two men to-morrow. If I get to Bessie's party it will 
be on my shield, not carrying it, I fear! My hair is 
falling out by handf uls, which proves — what you 
please; but I only want to say, if I live through this 
week, and comfortably surmount the ill-luck of having 
no place to put anything, thee may rest assured I shall 
be glad to recline on thy nankeen bosom when Sary 
comes. Oh, won't it be nice to see her? I had a lovely 
letter the other day from her, which I have handed over 
to Sister Mary; but there is no use to send it to thee, 
as thee is so intimate with Sary nowadays. I told her 
I was quite used to Carrie's preference, but could not 
stand hers; so I hope she will cool off a little!! . . . 



250 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Oh dear, the yearly meeting folks are filing down the 
street, and how long ago it seems since we used to get 
our white bonnets, etc., for this grand occasion. People 
grow older by the cares they accept more than by their 
years, and this week I am a mother to Methusaleh! It 
is sinful to picture your early drives to me, but I am 
persuaded that I do not care for horses any more. 
" Changes must upon us come." 

High Cottage, June 5th, 1884. 

Thy little note, dear Fin, with its implied reproach, 
reached me just before I left Philadelphia, and now, on 
the edge of mail time, I must answer it. We arrived 
here yesterday afternoon, tired, hot and dusty, in spite 
of an enchanting ride up the windings of the Delaware. 
We find ourselves settled into a lazy life already, " the 
world forgetting, by the world forgot." We also find, 
from a strict study of the register, that we are among 
the goodly company of saints and martyrs! All the 
names familiar, and generally of " members in unity 
with us " ! We find, too, the oldest incumbent, a spry 
old lady who walks in her garden and talks to her guests 
and goes to meeting, which last is the only real excite- 
ment in her life. If everybody who has been here re- 
peats the dose, I think it speaks well for the wants of 
man. Nothing to look at, and not too fine a point on 
society when confined to the Green family!! With me 
the visit is made after long years of listening to the ad- 
miring hum of adulation, and to see Eome (or Green's) 
and die, is the only expression of my expectations. We 
are having a lovely time together, but then we are all 
lovely people, as thee will see for thyself when we come 
home. 

No need to remind me of your house in my round of 
visiting. Not one member of my family shall escape 
me, so just fold thy hands and wait thy turn. I shall 



1884, 1885, 1886. 2-51 

l)e here a week, and have promised Saide to go there 
iirst; and then we can arrange when it will best snit 
thee to have my august presence. . . . 

High Cottage, June 9th, 1884. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, reached us this morning, and 
as it was addressed to Sister Mary, she ought to answer 
it; but she absolutely declines to do so, and insists on 
my writing immediately. It is no great trial to do so, 
but three letters ahead of thine are still awaiting my 
notice, so thee need not expect any equivalent of thine. 
We have just returned from a ride over to Wolfs Hol- 
low, which is a most romantic dell leading out of Cherry 
Valley. We wanted to pick up the wild little stream 
and bring it up here, instead of the dusty road, right on 
the porch. This place is lovely and home-like, but 
without a drop of water to enliven it; and, situated as 
it is behind the hill, gives one a feeling of being cheated 
in this rolling country. . . . 

The only other people in this house beside our own 
party and Aunt Sarah are Mr. , and Mrs. Black (Mary 
Smith " as was "), and Mrs. Neil Gray and Mrs. Mott, 
from Oswego. These last are delightful people, but I 
seem to have been a torment to Mrs. Gray. My " face 
was so familiar, my manner and voice were all some- 
thing she had met before "; and she told Mrs. Mott that 
it really made her uncomfortable, and kept her staring 
at me all the time. Finally, the other night, when she 
was talking of Wilmington people, I asked her if she had 
met my sister, Mrs. Eli Garrett. She threw up both 
her hands and said: " Is she your sister? Well, now, it is 
all explained!" Then she called over to Mrs. Mott, 
"Alice, only think, I have found out all about Miss 
Sellers; and it is such a relief! " . . . 

I like Mrs. Gray and Mrs. Mott very much, and the 
latter makes me think of Helen so much that I feel 



252 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

quite at home with her. She is industry itself, and 
does all kinds of beautiful needle-work. Aunt Sarah 
and Lilly are quite an addition to the circle, although 
Aunt Sarah does not play whist! Mr. Black is a gen- 
tleman of the old school, somewhat after the style of Sir 
Leicester Dedlock and Mary is so deaf everybody 
screams at her, and he finds less companionship than he 
may have anticipated. These late marriages are sort of 
[sorrowful things to me, for I think it is infinitely easier 
to be alone in single life than to find oneself in solitude 
sifter marriage. I wonder if Mary does not think she 
has made a mistake, or if he does not sometimes wonder 
if he has paid rather dear for his whistle. Mary does 
not properly represent a whistle, however; so maybe my 
sympathies are misplaced again. Then the Green fam- 
ily themselves are upon my mind, as there is an under- 
current of discontent, and a sort of growl from the fam- 
ily at the other house, and a slight tendency to the same 
from this. Old Catherine Green has no dissipation but 
meeting, but her ministry could not carry any blessing 
with it after her life at home. I forgot to tell thee of 
Alfred Mellor and his wife and children, who are here; 
and I wish every parent would take lessons from them 
in the way of gentle discipline; they do make such at- 
tractive children. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 28th, 1884. 
When thy telegram came yesterday, dear Fin, I was 
making preparations to go to the swell luncheon at Dr. 
McLeod's. This naturally disturbed my mind, and. as 
I knew it would be impossible to do both, I naturally 
chose the most attractive! No, indeed, Fin; this en- 
gagement was positive, and I could not break it, and 
after I came back it was so dark and rainy I could not 
get up courage to go. I might have sent thee a letter, 
but I positively did not think of it until it was too late. 



1884, 1885, 1886. 253 

Beflections on the lunch filled up my time until supper, 
and then a long sitting from Lydia Pike distracted me. 
If I could have ignored the streets, or had the wings of 
a dove, I should certainly have been with you this morn- 
ing; but it was too bad to turn out. So here I am all 
by myself, sitting by the fire like " Cross-patch," and no- 
body lifts the latch to come in. If it were not that 
Hawthorne and his family are my guests at present, I 
should have felt the day very long, but I have enjoyed 
them more than I can tell. Not quite equal to the 
Mendelssohns, however, but more American. 

I must say I do hate to eat alone, and the " dinner 
of herbs where love is " suits me better than chicken and 
roast potatoes. After devouring this, however, I feel 
too stupid to write a note, and my time of rest is 
now, — like Sary, who disappears the minute she swal- 
lows her dinner. The only diversion I have had to-day 
is in driving oif dogs from the premises. Tote is es- 
pecially attractive, and the most persistent wooer is 
Howard's dog. When you get him away from the front, 
he appears at the back door; and his sharp bark is heard 
at any hour of the day or night. I have brick-bats, 
stones, pieces of coal and hard wood to throw at him, 
and Katie " gives him a kick fit to break his back," so 
she says; but nothing daunted, he turns up again! Poor 
Tote cannot go out except on the flat, which is her place 
of promenade. I guard the front door, and dash out 
every now and then, like Aunt Betsy with the donkeys. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 5th, 1885. 
No doubt my manners are at a low ebb with you at 
1315, but one would think a long record of politeness 
ought to tell in my favor! Well, I must submit to your 
decision; but may say that the stubborn headache which 
interfered with my agreeability while with you has been 
my fast friend ever since. It seems as if my early youth 



254 THE STORY OE A LIFE. 

had returned in this way; old-fashioned headaches that 
1 hoped were done forever. Last night I brought things 
to a crisis by fainting, and cannot get over the feeling. 
I read somewhere lately that people of inactive minds 
were very apt to fall into poor health, so maybe that is 
what is the matter. 

Well, in spite of all I had a nice little visit with you, 
but came away with the feeling of not seeing anyone in 
particular, which thee knows is always unsatisfactory. 
I believe the one who made the strongest impression 
was Frank, and thee cannot think why. Well, I think 
he is unfortunately situated, and an aggressive spirit is 
engendered in him which is not natural. Does thee not 
think it would be better to send him away to school for 
awhile? Not for his schooling especially, but for fixing 
his status in life a little. An uncertain position is of all 
things most trying, and he would soon find his level 
with boys, and his more assured happiness too. . . . 

I am under the impression that scholarship is not 
Frank's forte, — and yet he may be a very successful 
man; but I want him to have all the chances. His prin- 
ciples are pretty firmly established, and it would seem 
less risky with him than with most boys to send him 
away from home. He wants to know himself indi- 
vidually, and respect himself for what there is. He 
might be the angel Gabriel himself, but it is clear 
enough to an outsider that he is at a disadvantage. Sel- 
fishness is more firmly established in his present sur- 
roundings than if a lot of boys were asserting themselves 
in spite of any regard for him, and sisters even the most- 
loving are fair game to an only son. Oh, I think he 
would be twice the man if he had his full chance as a 
boy. Now " Meddlesome Matty " is done, and thee may 
think these old-maid sisters are too knowledgable about 
other people's business; but I have said my say, and thee 
cannot help knowing that love only is the impulse. 



1884, 1885, 1886. 255 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 1st, 1885. 
I supposed of course thee had heard about Miss Groff . 
She was only ailing about two weeks. The first part of 
this time she was very busy about clothes for the wed- 
ding, and would not take care of herself, going out in 
all kinds of weather. I had quite a serious talk with 
her upon this subject, and wanted her to have another 
doctor. She had employed Dr. P., a near neighbor. He 
drinks, I believe; but anyhow has no reputation. The 
day of the wedding I went up to get my dress fitted; 
Miss Groff looked very badly, but was up and about. 
My dress was not satisfactory to her, and I said, " Oh, 
never mind, you can fix it afterward "; and that is the 
last work she ever did. That day she went to bed " to 
rest," she said; and they were not alarmed, but rather 
relieved. The doctor never said a word of danger, and 
yet he knew she was sinking into typhoid fever. Almost 
immediately her brain was affected; but she knew them 
all until Friday, when she fell into a stupor from which 
she never aroused. They were quite unprepared for her 
death, and when I saw the lady with whom she boarded 
she said it seemed as if all the life of the house had 
gone with her. I could not help thinking of how Miss 
Groff had told me she must change her home, for this 
lady said she could not be bothered with her! Poor 
thing! I can only see now how many opportunities I 
had for good, which I neglected. If I had only told her 
to let my dress go; if I had only offered to go for the 
doctor, or had gone to see about her afterward. I 
thought of her every day, but my house was full of com- 
pany, and the time went by; and while I thought she 
was getting well, she was dying. I cannot bear to think 
of it, and it seems all wrong to me even yet that she 
should die. I do not believe God intends half the peo- 
ple who sink into death to die; but it is all a mystery. 
I was out at Darby one night early in this last 



256 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

week; when I came home I found the notice, and I al- 
most felt as if I had murdered her by mere neglect. All 
her customers were really fond of her, and she will be 
a great loss in this neighborhood, where she had thor- 
oughly established herself. Now her sister has gone 
home, and the whole thing is ended. 

I wonder what you are doing this dismal evening. 
The rain falls and the snow is disappearing, but winter 
still reigns. I would be glad for it to stay, for this 
messy kind of mongrel atmosphere is horrible. 

I was at church this morning with Lizzie, who told 
me of Mildred's safe arrival in her new home. It seems 
impossible that she is no longer at 3300 Arch, and I 
pity Lizzie, who has her own burdens to bear, and her 
own loneliness to feel. . . . Well, " such things be, and 
will again," so no need to treat it as an exceptional case. 
Thee thinks it bad enough to have Chellie a few squares 
off; but after all the separation is not in the distance. 
Oh, Fin! I know the whole story. There is a great band 
of self-deceivers who invariably assert that matrimony 
cannot change their affections in other directions. In- 
deed, they generally go farther and say: " I only love 
you better, if possible." Well, there is no use to dis- 
pute this, for they never can go back into feeling as they 
did with you, not for you. Who wants pity? We only 
ask an impossibility when we ask the first thoughts as 
formerly. Nature will assert itself on both sides, and 
the happy go up head in the class. I am down at the very 
foot just now, not from recent effects of matrimony, but 
a general feeling as if things were going to the bad. My 
mind to me a kingdom was, but it is so no more; and 
what has become of the finer portions I know not. It is 
death, I suppose, but I " eat, drink, and am merry " all 
the same, and live on prose instead of poetry; but it is 
dry stuff. 

The Coleys are coming. Oh, ho! oh, ho! Well, I 



1884, 1885, 1886. 257 

heard the slight put on you, and have not forgiven it; 
and do not see how you can accept the visit. However, 
Fin, there is a good deal of that kind of friendship. 
People visit when it suits them, not when it suits you; 
and I have finally come to the conclusion that " I don't 
care a darn for anybody ! I" It is not a good thing to be 
in earnest over trifles, but thee and I find them " the 
sum of life," and so they are intense to us. Let us float 
along as others do, and " smile and be content." No 
need " to surfer and be strong." It is too hard on us; 
and a little more assurance would brace us up, and make 
life quite a lark. 

Sister Mary has pretty much consented to go to 
Europe, and I think the opportunity ought not to be 
neglected. Alfred Mellor and party sail on May 15th; 
nothing could be nicer. Oh, Fin, lets us " beat a drum 
or blow something "! Come, let us be joyful. 

LETTER TO S. S. SMYTH. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 12th, 1885. 
To be picked up on the point *of thy pen, dear Sary, 
makes me feel very insignificant indeed, but just now 
I am in a very humble state of mind owing to my physi- 
cal meanness. The other day when I came up from 
Wilmington, I got out at Darby station and walked 
across to see Alice. It was a beautiful day, but an in- 
sidious wind buffeted me in the face and tcok away my 
breath, and I arrived at Darby with my hair blown out 
by the roots, and my legs queerer than the doll's dress- 
maker's. In consequence of this escapade, all my 
stomach troubles have returned, and I am " totally de- 
feated," so to speak. This morning I meant to drown 
my sorrows in listening to Dr. Lord on Joan of Arc. 
As thee says, everything is at high pressure now, and 
education must go on even if you have one foot in the 



258 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

grave. This time, however, I did not feel equal to the 
effort, and was beside afraid lest Miss Alderman should 
return my call while I was out. One small errand I was 
forced to do, and as luck would have it Kate and she 
called while I was away. I am particularly sorry for this 
because I have never seen her. Kate gave a cousin 
party for her, and left me out, — being only an aunt. 
Probably she did not know I was as young as the best 
of them. However, Sary, I have passed the Eubicon, 
and find myself a most unworthy member of the older 
generation. I think we have the authority of Goethe 
for believing that people are always happier when they 
are decidedly old. He says " fifty is a happier time 
than thirty; for thirty is the old age of youth, while 
fifty is the youth of old age." Now being at this youth- 
ful period left me quite unprepared for any slights. . . . 
Well, " such things be, and will again "; and it does not 
become me to notice them. I had much better tell thee 
of my visit to Wilmington, which was a great success. 
I found Fanny tasting the sweets of popularity, being 
appointed President of the forthcoming Charity Ball!! 
She did not sleep at all well after the appointment, and 
was quite bewildered with her new duties. " Uneasy 
lies the head that wears a crown." When I left her on 
Tuesday she was only partially adjusted to her new 
responsibilities. 

She talks of coming up with me for a few days, but 
her official duties rendered this impossible. She is com- 
ing up on Saturday with Eli, to John's. . . . 

I went out with them on Saturday night to the Whist 
Club, at Sam Bancroft's, much against my will; but 
after E. J7s example here, was determined to do any- 
thing which seemed most agreeable to the hostess. Poor 
Granville Worrell was victimized, for I was his partner; 
but he was very amiable and polite, and could hardly 
criticize me after insisting on my playing. 



1884, 1885, 1886. 259 

I had no fault to find with my visit to "Wilmington 
in any way, but it can never be the same to me while my 
dear Sary is not under the same roof.* I must say I 
never enjoyed my visits to Wilmington half so much as 
when you were loth under my thumb. I hate to think 
of anybody else being in that house, and the desecration 
seems enormous when I think of Mrs. Thomson up in 
thy little sitting-room with the sewing-machine in her 
power. I looked with longing eyes at cousin Annie 
Canby's, hoping I should see Murray, and even Molly's 
French style would have been a comforting idea, but the 
Lares and Penates were non est!! . . . 

Here I was interrupted this morning by the arrival 
of Alice Sellers and Annie Garrett for lunch. I could 
not help wishing for Alice Smyth to happen in as they 
did. . . .Before they left, Lizzie came for a little while, 
and before her departure B. L. came to ask me to ride. 
!STo need to say I left all and followed her, for a ride is 
too rare a pleasure now to hesitate about it. When I 
came back just at nightfall, I found myself dead tired 
and sleepy from the wind, but nevertheless I will finish 
off my letter and send it to thee, whose little inuendoes 
about my " epistolary spasms " are not to be endured. 
Do not imagine me writing to anyho&y any more. I 
have nothing to say, and therefore I know, as Ellen Sel- 
lers did with the " little spot," " there is something 
dreadful the matter with me/' I have every incentive 
to write, if it were only in the hope of return; but alas! 
this inspiration is not enough, and all else is wanting. 

I am sitting quite alone in this small library, — 
T. C. S. up in his work-room, and Katie gone to the 
dressmaker's. Tote lies on the lounge, and the fire 
dances on the wall, while I sit under the lamp at my 

* The family of C. B. Smyth were living in New York for the 
winter, having rented their house 1317 Delaware avenue, for the 
season. 



260 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

desk, wishing I were in bed and asleep. I am afraid this 
condition of mind will be observed, so I hurry on to the 
end. 

B. L. made me feel very much as if I were perma- 
nently asleep. Her life is full of activity. She runs 
everything from the church charities down to the clean- 
ing of the streets. I listen to her in amazement. She 
has four kindergartens under her supervision. She is 
canvassing the different wards in Philadelphia to get a 
commissioner appointed who will attend to a proper 
drainage system, and look after all sanitary arrange- 
ments in houses. She glories in her ability to run these 
various departments, and innocently remarked that it 
was no wonder women who simply attended to their 
households never developed. So Sary, my deficiencies 
are explained! I hope thee will go on in thy mad career 
of lectures, concerts, and readings; also that thee will 
bend thy " powerful mind " to the alleviation of the 
various abuses in your city. Nothing but a course of 
such training will ever make anything but an "unde- 
veloped " character; merely a busy woman " without 
proper aims!" 

I suppose Prof, and Mrs. Bachus may make some- 
thing of thee, but having failed myself, I am quite con- 
vinced there is a fault on one side or the other, and it 
could not possibly be mine. 

I have just been reading " Worthy Women," and I 
find them very discouraging. Nevertheless, if thee has 
a chance to read it, be sure to do so. Its title is enough 
to stir the soul of anyone not dead to self-respect, and 
the fact that it is " Worthy Women of the First Cen- 
tury " may lead to something in the Second. If thee 
thinks anything of thyself after reading Mrs. Samuel 
Eipley, thee must have powers not known to thy sister! 
And as to George Eliot, I have just reveled in her, and 
the only difference between us is in the fact that she 



1884, 1885, 1886. 261 

can express my thoughts while I could not express hers. 
Her after companionship with such a mind as Mr. 
Lewes' was a constant inspiration. Tell Alice Mr. Cross 
might do for her. I am afraid Mr. Lewes or his coun- 
terpart might prove too exciting. He would have set 
me crazy, although I liked him so much, but they never 
rested. I have had to rest even from B. L., so thee may 
judge of my mental condition. 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 13th, 1885. 

Thy note, dear Fin, reached me a while ago on my 
arrival home from Orange. The welcome news of the 
little daughter to Ohellie was announced by our foreign 
sister, as thy note was greedily devoured the instant she 
arrived. She and Anna were perfectly astounded with 
the news, as they had not the slightest suspicion of any 
such prospect. We all congratulated Chellie, who seems 
to take her easy-going ways even into this bad business. 
No doubt it was as bad as she wanted, but it is all hor- 
rible to my ideas. The consolation or compensation is 
so great, however, that such troubles are soon forgotten; 
and I can fancy the new mother very happy in her small 
possession. . . . 

Now, old Granny, we have done nothing but laugh 
at thee to-day over in Orange. It seems too ridiculous 
that the baby's grandmother is our small young Fin, and 
it gives me a fresh impulse toward the grave. And Eli 
a grandfather! He may just as well resign himself, 
now, to grow old with me, and not presume to twit me 
on that extra two months. 

We all wished for thee so much to complete the 
group of sisters at Orange. Saide came out from the 
ship with Sister Mary, and stayed all night; and we had 
a good old time. 

I have only been home about an hour, and am forced 
to make this a very hurried note. Give my love to 



262 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Chellie, and the little "Dorothy/' or "Helen/' or 
" Fanny," or whatever name it may dignify. If it is 
half as nice as thy babies, I shall be sure to love it. 



3303 Hamilton Street, November 3d, 1886. 

To show my good manners in contrast to the base 
conduct of Alice and Annie, I am obliged to write this 
evening as soon as I get home! I am mad as a hornet, 
but not at any of you! . . . 

How completely warped one's motives are, for here 
I am accused of forcing myself to welcome her, when all 
my anxiety was for her own comfort and pleasure. Oh, 
Fin, there is no use in being nice. I am not going to 
try any more, and if I prove to be Mr. Hyde instead of 
Dr. Jekyll, it is because I am driven into my worst by 
unworthy suspicions. Now, like Kate Febiger, I turn 
away from this unpleasant subject, and hasten to show 
the other side of the picture. I have been talking a 
straight stream to Tom ever since I got home, telling 
him all about my lovely visit, and your nice houses. He 
was greatly interested with the plans I drew on the 
table-cloth with my fork, but refuses to believe that you 
could know as much as M. S. about fixing up an old 
house and making the most of it ! ! He is a deluded mor- 
tal, and feels loyalty to me a necessity of his being, even 
when opposed to all common sense. . . . 

I told Tom about our anagrams; and he says the one 
which bothered us so dreadfully was not properly given. 
It should be " Got as a clue "; which simplifies matters 
considerably. Henry Ferris ought to send us a paper 
for discovering this mistake and finding the answer. 
Here are some others which Tom has been giving me: 



1884, 1885, 1886. 263 

Best in prayer, makes Presbyterian. 

Flit on Cheering Angel . .Florence Nightingale. 

A Just Master James Stuart. 

Golden Land Old England. 

Nasty Eome Monastery. 

Into my arm Matrimony. 

Thee ought not to know the answers, but thee may 
give them to the others, and I will still keep thee in 
ignorance of " got as a clue," which is sure to be found 
out. . . . 

My visit was a great success, but I do not see how I 
can let those houses go on without my finger in your 
pie. 

Katie is waiting to take this to the mail, so I must 
say good-night, with love to every single one. If any 
of you come to Philadelphia, remember this is head- 
quarters for a resting place. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 11th, 1886. 
. . . Thy small note, and Helen's letter enclosing 
H. F/s abject epistle, came when I was down with ma- 
laria in my bones. They quite cheered me up; and as 
my feeling had been strong for a quick departure from 
this wearisome world, I turned back to the solid com- 
fort yet to be found in it with more than resignation. 
Oh, Fin, malaria affects the mind as much as the body, 
and the general tossing up of all interests for me made 
me see things as through a glass very darkly. Now the 
combined influences of quinine and whiskey have given 
me a boost, and hence this note! Sister Mary has just 
been in to soften her downward path from E. W. and the 
English cousins. For some days past she has been on a 
high notch, and is now making a graceful descent to 
common life again. She has been out to Media to-day, 
and has been very entertaining as she sat in the twilight 
with us. She wants me very much to go out to " Wild 



264 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Orchard " with her and stay over Sunday, as Joe Par- 
rish's family have not yet arrived there; but even this 
last opportunity cannot be comfortably embraced by me 
while Alice is depending upon my agreeable society!! 
I think " Wild Orchard " will keep for me, and when I 
feel better I shall enjoy it more. 

It is not nice to feel one's self a wreck even at home, 
but to publish the fact by rushing wildly into visiting is 
not in the constitution of M. S. 

I have just finished my plain skirt, and think my 
mind only works in such sedative employment. I can 
knit and think of all the happy days which brought us 
this far on in life. I have no one now to remind me of 
advancing years, as Eli never forgot to do!* I have not 
even the never-ceasing care of matrimonial affairs, which 
he extended to my forlorn single life. It makes me 
laugh to remember all the various suggestions he gave, 
and the unwearied interest he extended to my most 
ridiculous stories. It seems as if my life was full of him, 
and from the time I wanted to put him in the gutter f 

* Eli was just two months to the day younger than she, of 
which he never failed to remind her. 

t This alludes to another evidence of her prophetic vision. When 
we were young girls, we were calling one afternoon on a friend ot 
mine in Philadelphia, who, after welcoming us, said, turning to 
me, " I saw a friend of thine from Wilmington this afternoon 
driving out Arch street, and I thought to myself, he is going to 
see Fanny Sellers." After this, I could not tell what was the 
matter with Pattie; she never spoke, and I was inwardly chafing 
at her bad manners, so made the call as short as possible. When 
we got into the street I was about to remonstrate with her, when 
she said with great feeling: " I could throw Eli Garrett into that 
gutter." I did not answer her, for I knew that she had fath- 
omed what I had not told her, — that I had given him permission 
to see Father and Mother to ask their consent to our marriage. 
How many times afterward she used to joke with him about her 
wish that day, and how it all came to her like a revelation that 1 
would leave her. 



1884, 1885, 1886. 265 

to the end of his life he never failed in kindness and 
sympathy and brotherly affection. There are so many 
rich memories that I hardly need other social life, and 
the feeling of losing my grip on life generally makes me 
feel the quiet of home, and the peaceful pursuit of knit- 
ting, as the only fit thing for this old lady. 

As the rain holds off, I am in hopes your house will 
be under roof soon, and then the interesting and tedious 
part will begin. If Sary gets into her house in two 
weeks I think she will get a surfeit of workmen, and I 
would say of " victuals " too, only she doesn't like the 
word; but she cannot help the incongruous mix of men 
and provisions at least, for it is much easier to have no 
care of that part of living, so I am rather sorry she un- 
dertakes it so soon. However, I cannot judge for her. 
I only know that to have a good appetite I must be far 
removed from any thought of the kitchen. 

Tell Helen this miserable letter must also answer 
hers until I am in better fashion. 

Good-night, my dear little Fin, and write to me 
when thee can get up any interest, for it. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 23d, 1886. 

My congratulations must go to thee for the safe ar- 
rival of the little stranger, for surely thee will feel al- 
most as much relieved as Chellie herself. The baby's 
coming seems to be the one bright spot in this gloomy 
week. Everybody seemed to have the blues, and the 
spell weakens one's moral condition. There is a ten- 
dency to recklessness even in the most cautious. I my- 
self do not care a darn for the petty happenings of the 
day. It is only an event like this, a new life with its 
fresh element, which brings any healthful enthusiasm. 
. . . There must be something in the air to make me 
feel the bottom dropping out. 

I hope thee has not let thyself get down into reali- 



266 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ties, but will boldly assume the general conditions of 
happiness, since we all know this does sometimes in- 
duce it. I wish I were like Kate Febiger, who says she 
can always turn away from an unpleasant subject, and 
compel herself to think of something else. Sometimes, 
however, there seems nothing to think about; it is only 
one all-pervading sense of loss, one immense feeling 
without the comfort of thought. Who can contend with 
this? Not thee, I am afraid; but there is one way to 
keep ourselves by realizing the fact that we cannot live 
long in this low condition; something must come to turn 
the scale, for even without enthusiasm we do live and 
get some happiness in the long run. . . . 

I tried to divert myself by making a little party for 
Thanksgiving, but Steve and Bess, who were to be the 
guests, were booked for the country; and Fred naturally 
performed that too. I looked around among my friends, 
and found each one had nearer interests than to dine 
with us; and so our plum pudding is minus the sauce 
which gives it a charm. Still, we are going to have it; 
so anybody that wants some must come of his own fine 
instinct. Tom has given me the final push under the 
dark waters, like Johnny Sands, by telling me of the 
probabilities of his being sent away from Philadelphia 
this winter; and that just breaks me up, since a we are 
all poor creaturs," and must feel it afresh at every loss. 
To tell me not to cross the bridge until I come to it has 
no effect. I cross backward and forward, and grow 
giddy with looking down. These most unfortunate peo- 
ple who must depend on their affections for their props 
have a shaky foundation for happiness. The relation- 
ship which is not recognized is hardest to manage, but 
whether Tom fills the role of a brother, or a son, or a 
nephew, it makes little difference. He has made himself 
so much my dependence that home is hardly home 
without him; and so thee sees malaria and this little 



1884, 1885, 1886. 267 

shadow have pulled me down almost to the level of real 
loss. It makes me think of the Mock-Turtle in Alice 
in "Wonderland; she pitied him deeply, and said to the 
Gryphon: "What is his sorrow?" And he said, " Oh, 
that is all his fancy; he hasn't got no sorrow, yon 
know!" None the less, I cannot help knowing that 
" once I was a real turtle !" 

Here my letter has come to an end, because the soup 
is served, and we are called to test it; and, more than 
that, I know thee is tired of my little moans. 

(Evening.) — Do tell Helen that Lizzie took things 
into her own hands the other day at the sewing-school; 
when they proposed to dismiss the boys from farther 
attendance on account of the scarcity of teachers, she 
simply proposed that instead of turning them into the 
street again, they " should be handed over in a body to 
the charge of Miss Sellers," meaning, yours truly. The 
next thing is, what is to be done with them? Nobody 
wants them, and so I get them; but what am 
I to teach them? I heard one small boy in- 
troducing me (in an aside) ,to a newer mem- 
ber: "Oh, she'll tell you stories; and it ain't no 
never mind whether you sew or not!" Any suggestions 
will be welcome; there are about fifteen, I think, and 
they have previously had three teachers assigned them. 
Now these are all wanted for the girls, so I am to do 
the best I can; and as the little boy says, " it ain't no 
never mind about sewing!" Still, I shall find it a good 
thing to keep their hands from mischief, and I am open 
for suggestions. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 9th, 1886. 
My manners would have suggested a note yesterday 
to thee, dear Fin, but when I got home I found a tele- 
gram from Tom saying he would not be home until to- 
day, so I took another flight and went to Darby. Now 



268 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

I am once more at home, and already my visit to thee 
seems quite far off. It was very sweet to me, and I can- 
not help feeling as if I had a sort of mission to look 
after thee; therefore when thee finds my finger in thy 
pie thee will know the reason why. I look back at the 
novel experience, too, of getting attention from Mr. 
Worrell, with mingled emotions!! I have not had a 
chance yet to retail my experiences, but thee may rest 
assured not a point will be omitted! The fine touch will 
be given of the near place at the table, the gentle refer- 
ences, the exquisite candor, the appeal to put this and 
that to his credit; above all, the new carriage must make 
my tongue eloquent in his behalf! . . . 

It is all pretty funny, but having served some small 
experience in being courted for other people, it comes 
quite natural to me to recognize this unconscious defer- 
ence. 

I am too sorry I did not see Chellie and her little 
ones. Alice Pearson thinks Dorothy the sweetest name 
possible, and I am getting reconciled to it now. 

This must go off at once, as I am in the midst of 
doctoring poor Katie, who is a victim to neuralgia in 
the head, and says " By jabers, it will soon take my head 
off "; so to end this, good-bye. 



CHAPTER XV. 

1887, 1888. 

January 9th, 1887. 
Well, if Mr. Worrell calls me "Aunt," I may as 
well call him " Uncle." I cannot but smile at Lizzie's 
confidence in keeping this thing secret when the birds 
of the air are singing of it; but only experience will 
teach her that murder and love alike must out. Love is 
a commodity that cannot be boxed up, that defies bolts 
and bars, that tells its own story in whispers, which are 
repeated in shouts and hurrahs; that paints its own 
colors faintly in the eyes and on the cheeks of the vic- 
tims, to be intensified to such a degree that he who runs 
may read. 

TO ANNIE GARRETT. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 11th, 1887. 

Well, Annie, I cannot possibly get up any reason for 
thee to stay away next Saturday! I consider thee my 
lawful prey, and it will seem strange to me for thee to 
go to 3300 Arch. However, as my amiability is at stake, 
I will let thee go without a word. I generally have 
lunch about one o'clock, but if a later time suits thee 
better, I can easily accommodate. The morning is filled 
at school, and I generally come home a used-up party; 
so do not look for much brilliancy. I have just come 
down from Aunt Mary's, and found her in the midst of 
new table-cloths. She told me she thought of going 
down to your house on Thursday, but had not yet set- 
tled on the train or the route. If weather permits, we 
are going out to Darby to-morrow by the B. & 0. I 



270 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

find myself fastened to my work too much just now in 
knitting that last skirt, which has to be done by the 
29th. It is the prettiest one of all, and " positively the 
last." This weather is so enchanting I want to be out 
all the time; and knitting is abhorrent to my ideas. 

I had an experience with Tote this morning on the 
street which was truly exciting. Dogs are not decent 
in their demonstrations, and I had to get two men en- 
listed in my service before I could bring her to a sense 
of decorum. Ever since she has been in disgrace, and 
crouches humbly at my feet, hoping I will " make no 
deep scrutiny into her mutiny," but " owning her weak- 
ness, her evil behavior "; and Katie now is pleading her 
cause, telling me " not to be too stiff " with her, so I 
will stop this note and " make up." 

I shall look for thee on Saturday, and perhaps we 
might do a little shopping on Monday if thee can bring 
thy mind to the contemplation of my wardrobe. As to 
" Uncle Granville," I do not believe he will be there on 
Sunday, but thee can find out his intentions. I shall 
call him Uncle as sure as he calls me Aunt, and I be- 
lieve he has already begun that. Annie Almy is at 
3300 now, but I believe is going to make her visit in 
town while Mildred is there, and come afterward to con- 
sole Lizzie! She will be quite horrified I fancy, and so 
will every shallow nature; but earnest living ought to 
go for something, even in this world. I think it would 
be nice if Helen and thy mother would come too on 
Saturday and spend Sunday with us. If they like the 
idea, let me know in time to get the fine points on the 
table. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 7th, 1887. 

I never saw such "Copy-Cats" as you are! How- 
ever, here is my table at your service, provided thee and 
thy artistic family do not laugh at my sketch. As to 



1887, 1888. 271 

the covering with felt, I am sure if I could do it, you 
could. Small tacks to fasten it, and brass-headed for 
decoration. . . . 

If I were not in the full tide of a canopy for my bed- 
stead in the third story, I might think of a trip by the 
B. & 0.; but Edith Fuller comes on Friday, and I have 
curtains for the windows, and drapery for the canopy 
to arrange before that. Nothing could suit me better 
than to run off, for I am not fond of responsibility, and 
this involves proportion, ingenuity, and taste which my 
" head-piece " does not furnish. 

Tom is away, and likely to be so the greater part of 
of the week, though he has sworn by all that is holy to 
fix my canopy for me. To-day he is in Maryland; to- 
morrow home, en route for Pittsburg ; so I must be here 
when he comes to see that he fulfils his vow. 

We had a nice visit from Frank. He came Saturday 
to supper; went out to the theater in the evening, and 
carried my dead-latch back with him to Swarthmore on 
Sunday. I will send him a postal, if it does not come 
back to-day. I divide his interest here with Mr. Smith, 
who finds subjects enough for his consideration, and it is 
quite a circus (so to speak) to hear electricity cussed and 
discussed. . . . 

Mr. Smith wants Frank to come here and go over 
with him to Plainfield, N. J., to convince him of the 
possibilities of the one-wire system, since he remains a 
" doubting Thomas " in spite of all arguments. . . . 

I had a lovely call from " Uncle Gran " last week, 
and we took up more subjects than we could manage in 
one evening, bringing each to bear in some remote way 
upon " Elizabeth!!" Now I am sure if thee would start 
on potatoes, or whitewash, or any other common low- 
lived topic, his unconscious alchemy would bring the 
subject up to higher planes, and end most naturally in 
the inspiring thought of Elizabeth!! Just try him. 



272 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 1st, 1887. 

Well, Fin, I think thee has indeed been "laying 
low." My knowledge of thee is too vague to be pleas- 
ant, and even now, with thy letter in my hand, I can- 
not possibly make out what thee is about. Whether 
" smoothing the path for thy feet " is merely a figura- 
tive expression, or indicates a desire for new shoes, I am 
quite unable to determine; but anyhow I shall be on 
hand Thursday morning to see. It is true the dress- 
maker will be here (or ought to be, for she has not yet 
put in an appearance), but a messenger informs me that 
" if she is alive, she will come in the morning "; and I 
sincerely hope she will not attempt a ghostly visitation. 
Dead or alive, I will be at Broad street station, even if I 
come with paper patterns pinned on my back. Eeform 
is now in the air, and my stern determination not to sew 
myself sick gives me a good excuse to think thee posi- 
tively needs me, though I know thee doesn't. This 
same dressmaker came and made Katie's dresses without 
a morsel of assistance, and I am inclined to think if 
Katie can afford this / ought to. As the month ends 
for me with two dollars in bank, thee may see I am sim- 
ply talking big; but I like the feeling of reckless dare- 
deviltry which such low resources inspire. . . 

Just here E. B. comes in, and no more chance for a 
note. He has evidently come for the evening, and now 
I have sent him off for Edith, so give myself up to 
music and the arts! T. C. S. has gone to the mass meet- 
ing against the Traction Company, and I have gone 
around among all my men friends this week, insisting 
upon their helping to swell the crowd. 

Now look for me Thursday, and come prepared to 
tell me everything. Here come those children, so I 
must be a child too. Good-night. 



1887, 1888. . 273 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 5th, 1887. 

Thy small business note, dear Fin, was not at all sat- 
isfying, since thee suppressed others of more feeling. I 
do not see why thee need, especially as I am sick, and 
can appreciate feeling more than business. Please do 
not connect my sickness with our little expedition. My 
mind (meaning my stomach) misgave me some days be- 
fore, and I just collapsed yesterday, but with an en- 
tirely new complaint. This is quite encouraging, but 
no chastening for the present is joyous, but grievous; 
and I recall Nathan's sad resource in youth of hanging 
on top of a fence. It is the only conceivable relief, but 
not being exactly decorous for me, I am reduced to a 
hot bottle and hard pillows. Yesterday I sent for the 
doctor, and he promised I should be well to-day; but he 
has perjured himself and I am pretty mis. 

I tried to get ready to go out to-day, but it was im- 
possible; and here I am covered up with my lovely 
eiderdown, giving up to the enjoyment of a good read, 
and all the comforts afforded in my luxurious room. 
Nothing quite compensates, however, for the twinges of 
pain in undiscovered parts of my body. 

Here my note was interrupted by Lizzie coming in 
to see after me, and now she has gone up to see the doc- 
tor and ask him what he means by making a dupe of 
me. . . . 

I do not see how I can let you get along without me 
much longer, but I can make no plans now, and feel 
shut off from being much good, even to myself. The 
dressmaker comes on Monday, and will be here most of 
the week, I suppose, but please do not feel free from me, 
as I am inclined to pounce down upon you at any 
minute. 

Perhaps for my own peace of mind I ought not to 
see your new house, though Lizzie says, quite truly, " it 
is wicked in you to have a wish beyond this;" but I have, 



274 . THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

for all that, so " my sin is ever before me." Now, Fin, 
let me have feeling as well as business in future, since 
I carry thee on my heart as well as my mind. 

Love to the girls and the lion's share for thyself. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 7th, 1887. 

Thy little note, dear Fin, has just reached me. Why 
cannot thee believe what is true, that our little " lark " 
the other day had nothing to do with my sickness. Be- 
fore receiving thy note making the appointment, I was 
doubled up and nursing hot-water bottles; so unless my 
body left my soul, or vice versa, thy conclusion is an im- 
possible thing. Here I am taking large doses of patience 
and small doses of medicine, and gradually working my- 
self up to the idea that babies' colic is enough to fill the 
house with their yells. I would like to be trotted on 
somebody's lap, but no one presenting but Katie and 
Mrs. Kimper my proportions are not conducive. I have 
two very good reasons for trying to get well as fast as 
possible, — first, to stand up to be fitted and get my 
dress done; and second to trip " down to Wilmington 
for my health." I have an invitation to a grand dinner 
next Saturday at Mrs. G-.'s, and if somebody will kindly 
make a previous engagement for me, I shall be greatly 
indebted! . . . 

Tell Annie her little sketch is a great help, and I 
have partially adopted it, but I am not strong enough to 
contend with anything very new, and unfortunately 
Mrs. Kimper is also low in her mind this morning, hav- 
ing a twinge of my own complaint. We are just dawd- 
ling over the work, and indeed I have philosophically 
concluded to let things go, as nothing seems worth 
while. I am glad to have Susan Coolidge's assurance 
about Spring coming, for " Winter lingering in its lap " 
would seem to indicate being " sat upon " permanently. 

Now, Fin, do not take on about " letter-writing days 



1887, 1888. 275 

being over." Anybody that takes in all the gamut of 
feeling from waffle-irons to poetry, and does it grace- 
fully and naturally, is a genius; so there! 

Love to the girls, and write me of your doings. 

3303 Hamilton Street, August 11th, 1887. 

This is Monday morning, dear Fin, and I have just 
come in from Darby, where I have been over Sunday 
with Alice. She is very weak and poorly, and I was 
shocked at the change in her appearance. The weather, 
oh, the weather! It is responsible for everything now; 
and indeed there seems little to build upon until a 
change comes. This afternoon or early to-morrow I 
must go out again, for Alice's condition is very touch- 
ing to me. With most indifferent help, entire inability 
to improve on this, and complete loneliness and sense of 
dependence, she has a rigid to look to her friends who 
have enjoyed her in her prime. I at least could not 
enjoy going to Wilmington or any place else until there 
is a brighter outlook for her. All your kind invitations 
are stored away in my heart, and I assure thee it is very 
sweet to be kept in remembrance. 

Thy letter was especially grateful, since it was so 
purely a voluntary offering. The spirit of barter in 
love is unsatisfactory; so much given for so much re- 
ceived does not suit this uncertain commodity. It is 
only when we " plunge soul forward, and gloriously for- 
get ourselves," as Mrs. Browning says about reading; 
" as then we get the right good " of a friend as well as 
" from a book." . . . 

There is a great deal of trouble in the world, and I 
am always adding another name to my long list of lonely 
people. It would be a surprise to some to see their 
names on the list, but I find a good many married peo- 
ple who are lonely all the same; and trouble of any 
kind makes loneliness, since it cannot be shared. My 



276 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

experience goes to prove that we are only acceptable 
when we are on the top wave, and division and misun- 
derstanding come when we ask for sympathy or expect 
to reap in the same fields we have sown. Other people 
reap our harvests, and we perhaps reap theirs, since 
there can be only one a giver, and the other a receiver; 
one anvil and one hammer; and our folly comes in when 
we expect anything different. This is not contrary to 
the Scripture doctrine of " whatsoever a man sows, that 
shall he also reap "; for we are sure to reap what we 
have sown, only not in the fields where we expect it. 

December 21st, 1887. 

Fin, has thee any buttons like the enclosed? Even 
one might put me out of misery. The dress is too far 
gone for new, but far too precious to be discarded. 

I have been laid on the shelf for three days with 
headache, not having " faith to move mountains "; could 
not get the pressure off until this morning. Now a 
sewing girl takes every minute, and this is stolen. 

I am quite beside myself to know something about 
you; would it be quite impossible for thee to remember 
my continued call for Fin, Fin, Fin?* 

A formidable document has just arrived from 1500 
Broome street. Oh, I wish there were no such things 
as receptions, especially bridal. It recalls " The First 
Party " in some old St. Nicholas: — 



* When we were young girls together, she had the most appeal- 
ing way of calling me. One would suppose it was a dog or cat 
she was calling; but no matter where she was, or what important 
thing I was doing, if I heard, " Fin, Fin, Fin, does she hear me 
calling, Fin?" — I would fly to her; and when we were women 
grown; indeed, when our years grew to be many, the beseeching 
cry when in her letters made me feel I must respond to the 
appeal. 



1887, 1888. 277 

The noise kept growing louder; 

The naughty boys would crowd her; 
" I think you're very rude, indeed," the little lady said; 

And then, without a warning, 

Her home instructions scorning, 
She screamed, " I want my supper, and I want to go to bed! " 

Now if we all had her courage, the result would not be 
very different. 

My Christmas this time all consists in the return of 
Tom, who is perfectly crazy to get back, if only for a 
week. I have written Sary at Baltimore, and thought 
of the draggledy bridal party last night in the rain. . . . 

Now, Fin, send me that button, or imagine me burst- 
ing into loose habits. Love to the girls, who are my 
girls as much as thine, and will thee please enlighten my 
ignorance about you, and send me a button. 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 23d, 1887. 

Thy precious gift, dear Fin, reached me this morn- 
ing ahead of Christmas, with one button broken to 
atoms. Never mind, the other two lift me again into 
respectability, from which I had wandered; and I am 
now safely " buttoned down before." 

As to the reception, I judge Sary is anxious to have 
a fair representation of her family, which could not be 
done without M. S. of course! My plan is to go down 
and do my prettiest for an hour (with bonnet on), and 
then come straight home on the wings of the wind, with 
the rest of the West Philadelphia party. . . . 

Oh, do not ask me to make a visit now, dear Fin, 
but save me up when there is a dearth of other enter- 
tainment. I only shine without a rival, and shall cer- 
tainly count on a visit at your house sometime this 
winter. . . . 

Did thee hear about poor Hannah Marot? Her hus- 
band died very suddenly day before yesterday. It is al- 
ways " the unexpected which happens," and she was 



278 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

very delicate, and a great weight on the minds of her 
daughters. He was tough and hardy and vigorous, and 
yet with a few days' sickness he is gone. It was typhoid 
and pneumonia, I believe. The whole thing is like a 
pall upon me, bringing back thy broken household so 
vividly. She also has three daughters, and one son, the 
youngest. They were a most devoted family, and the 
father simply idolized by them all. Now their life is all 
changed; for no matter how cheerfully this trial is 
borne, it has struck off all June days for them; the full- 
ness of the seasons, " and so Summer's done for them, 
Summer's done." I must take this small chance to say, 
dear Fin, how infinitely greater a loss is made by the 
common consent to ignore it. It seems good to me that 
you keep Eli always alive and in the midst, whatever 
other people may do. He never could convey a thought 
of death, but always the fullness of life, and cheerful, 
wholesome life too. You have not changed this, and I 
for one thank you each and all for it, knowing the ef- 
fort it has cost. I miss Eli at every turn even in your 
new quarters, but I never think of him except cheer- 
fully, for his spirit was of all things healthy and helpful. 
My Christmas is evolved out of good wishes, and if 
thee doesn't receive a handsome present at this time, 
please put it down to the neglect of Adams Express, the 
United States government mails, or anything but want 
of love, and thought, and good intentions, from 

M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 25th, 1887. 
Dear Fin, and all you lovely people to make my 
Christmas so full and overflowing! I feel quite like a 
bride this morning. I have so many acknowledgments 
to make, and have to do them on contract, for individ- 
ual notes are out of the question when the favors all 
come together. Won't thee tell Sary how much I felt 



1887, 1888. 279 

her appreciation of my fondness for children's books. 
They suit me; and one other book received is of like na- 
ture. It is a collection of all the best stories, fables, al- 
legories and fairy tales extant, even back as far as Goody 
Two-Shoes, and poems even from the " Original Poems "■ 
to make it complete; all collected by Horace Scudder, 
and greatly enjoyed by M. S. The Wonder Clock which 
Sary sent confirms me in my appreciation of juvenile 
literature, and I have either never gotten beyond my 
first childhood, or this is my second. As to your beauti- 
ful gifts, I have just raved over them; and they are now 
adorning the library table for the benefit of all behold- 
ers. I came very near appropriating Sister Mary's, too, 
not noticing the name; but I delivered it safely last 
night, and felt sorry that she had to put up with any- 
thing less beautiful than mine!! Of course I had to 
have the best, though, as I am so much nicer; or is it 
that the balance is made up on deficiencies? Each 
thing was sweeter and prettier than the last, and I do 
not see where you get so many ideas from. I missed 
one thing in your budget, and now come as a beggar to 
Chellie. Why didn't she send me a picture of the chil- 
dren? I was wounded to the quick, and filled with 
envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, to find 
Bessie preferred to M. S. Chellie has from her infancy 
avoided giving me any pictures; all that I have is on my 
own determination, and I will not be put down by neg- 
lect. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 30th, 1887. 
Well, Fin; the adventures of Captain Kidd are noth- 
ing to going on an excursion trip to a reception * in 
Wilmington ! We did not scruple to grudge openly that 



* A reception given by Mr. and Mrs. C. B. Smyth for their 
son, Herbert Weir Smyth, and his bride, Eleanor Adt, on Decem- 
ber 28th, 1887, at 1500 Broome street. 



280 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

much money for one evening's pleasure; and soothed 
our feelings by getting the excursion ticket by which 
we were hurried off so unceremoniously. Nobody 
knows the bitterness of that walk down the hill in the 
teeth of the wind! Sister Mary was nearly lost in the 
gutter, where she had aimlessly wandered. After she 
was restored, we made a dash for the station-house, and 
gaspingly sat down to breathe. T. C. S. came in smil- 
ingly in a minute, to tell us that our train was an hour 
and forty minutes late! Imagine our dismay. We had 
serious thoughts of returning to the party, but nobody 
could have recognized us in our battered condition. 
Then we thought thee would receive us with open arms, 
but Sis was so exhausted that she said nothing, nothing 
would induce her to take that trip again. Then, by a 
neat calculation we found that our train would bring us 
to Chestnut Street, in Philadelphia, after the cars were 
done running; and the vision of the long tramp over the 
bridge, and in the teeth of the wind up Thirty-third 
Street was too much for us. Our consultation was short, 
sharp and decisive. The fortunes of war compelled us 
to consider economy in the light of a fraud, so we calmly 
went by your place in the car, and saw the shining lights 
at 1500, with people moving gracefully about, while we 
poor wretches were shaking and shivering from the ef- 
fects of our walk. 

We reached the depot in time for the ten o'clock 
train, and vowed over and over we would never try ex- 
cursion tickets again. At twelve o'clock Tom and I 
got in home to our comfortable fire, after depositing 
Sister M. and Bess in their respective homes, and we 
felt as if we had been gone a week. It was pretty bad 
to have to leave the party, where we were just getting 
into the swim, and far worse to have terrapin and oys- 
ters and ices crammed down our reluctant throats at 
starting. 



1887, 1888. 281 

Now, I know we would have enjoyed the reception 
under more favorable conditions, but positively I have 
sworn off, from this time forth for ever more. This 
morning everything looks blue; nothing pleases me. 
Katie is certainly a very poor girl, or I am a miserable 
manager. I wish thee had her about a week, to see if 
there is anything in her, any possibility of development. 
Every time I go to your house I am impressed with thy 
power in the matter of training girls, and find myself 
in the lowest esteem in that direction. I hope the time 
will come when I can get good service; but the chances 
are against it, after six years trial with one girl. 

I am coming down to stay with thee soon, and let 
Miss E. and Katie fight it out together. I do not care 
for either of them, and yet I am compelled to live with 
them. Indeed, I do not care for anybody after a re- 
ception; Will thee kindly impress thyself with the 
thought that, in spite of my demoralized condition, I 
find thee in my heart this morning, where everything 
else is cold and dead. The visions of thy beautiful 
home, and thy own fair proportions, not to mention the 
children who rise up and call thee blessed, make the pic- 
ture complete. I wonder if thee knows how much thee 
has? We are all so apt to know the other thing much 
better. As to Sary, she was simply lovely, and Clem 
looked more than ever like a German prince; but Her- 
bert and Eleanor had each a tender glow about them, 
which ought to start up even Howard in a like direction. 
My whole attitude this morning is forbidding to Katie, 
frustrating to myself, and a general sense of being tee- 
totally defeated! The knowledge last night that there 
were " lots of good times, only we were not in them," 
became maddening as we passed your corner on our way 
to depot number 2. Now, do not ever expect anything 
more out of any of the party. We have made a vow 
never to be beguiled again into trying to save a little 



282 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

money. Our destiny must work itself out, and, for my- 
self, I know that it is only a matter of time when I come 
to the end; but I will certainly die game! So good-bye! 
Kecklessly thine, M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 27th, 1888. 

... All my thoughts, dear Fin, are brought to a 
stand-still; all my plans seem useless. 

The news has just reached me of Lottie Lewis's 
death. She has only been sick a week, and yesterday 
Mrs. Theodore Lewis was here, and said they did not 
consider her ill, excepting that typhoid fever was treach- 
erous. They had not the smallest apprehension of her 
death, I understand, until two hours before it took place. 
She was delirious, and I suppose was quite unconscious 
of her situation. Poor May will learn of her illness only 
when she learns of her death. The whole thing is para- 
lyzing. How friend Pike can go walking around the 
streets in his ninety-third year, while poor Maude is cut 
off in the bloom of her youth and usefulness, I cannot 
understand. It seems as if separations ought not to be; 
and I want to gather all my loved ones together and feel 
sure of them for a while. 

To-morrow I was to help Carrie " receive," and I 
am more likely to be in bed. My voice is almost gone, 
and I find no remedy so good as bed in these conditions. 
Do write me a note, and let me feel myself close to 
somebody. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 31st, 1888. 

My dear Fin ought to know that my mind and body 
are quite on a separate line these times. Here I am 
just in my room without even a whisper of a voice, and 
my mind goes dancing in every direction, and has finally 
rested at your door. Thy invitation and Sary's are be- 
fore me, and I am hugging myself to think I did not go, 



1887, 1888. 283 

just on the edge of this affliction. When one is really 
sick, there is no place like home! . . . 

All our thoughts in this neighborhood have run 
lately in the one channel of sympathy for the Lewis 
family, and a great sense of loss to our own. Very few 
girls were so unconsciously popular as Maude, and her 
gentle ways are always before me, as too familiar to lose 
by death. Some lives seem to defy death more than 
others. The ever-recurring question comes up with 
every departure, and the mysteriousness of the awful 
change has no answer to make. Everybody says that 
Maude's family are angelic in their composure and resig- 
nation, but we know too well what this covers when we 
think that all young life is taken out of that house. . . . 

I received a pass for Altoona and back, and an ur- 
gent invitation to spend Sue's birthday with her, and 
after that a week or two in the mountains. The birth- 
day passed off on Sunday, and I lay in bed the livelong 
day, with no wish for anything else. The snow on the 
mountains and the crisp air would be fascinating to me 
if I were well, but I cannot even go to the window now, 
although I am plastered up to the chin with petroleum 
and capsicum, etc., until my blood boils. " Massage " 
still goes on, and as I might as welL be hung for a sheep 
as a lamb, I am going to give it a full trial. B. is trying 
it too, but Mary Sellers says her " brain is too active." 
Mine does not seem to interfere with the treatment, but 
the sleep which should follow is not my portion. The 
greatest impression I make on Mary Sellers is by my 
" soft skin." With all her patients she " never had one 
with so fine a texture! " So now, Fin, thee will see why 
I am so extra nice! 

Since I have been in bed, I have devoted myself to 
LittelVs, which are easy to hold; but now I am up, I am 
reading Darwin's Life and Letters with great delight. 
He was a lovely man, and in his family must have been 



284 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

simply fascinating, not to mention their natural pride 
in his attainments and discoveries. My knitting work is 
all finished, and I feel quite lost without it, though piles 
of sewing await my eager enthusiasm! 

Won't thee give me some suggestions about an af- 
ghan for the parlor? I have waited for years the gen- 
erous impulses of my friends in this direction, but now 
I have adopted Miles Standish as my prototype, and will 
do it myself. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 7th, 1888. 

If I were thee, Fin, I would give M. S. up as a bad 
bargain. It is now three weeks since I was out of the 
house, and my voice is precarious enough to make me 
very cautious still. To-morrow I am invited to help 
" receive " at Annie Bancroft's, and unless a close car- 
riage is provided, I will not condescend to appear. The 
very thought of it makes me quite " misable,"* as 
Annie used to say, and I cannot think how people want 
these streams of people shaking hands and smiling at 
them, and hurrying out to go home to supper! For- 
tunately for the " receivers," we have a supper provided 
afterward in the house; and we have yet to see how 
many of the " lame ducks " will be there. This was 
Sellers's comment on the selection Annie had made in 
her assistants, — Mary Bancroft, Cassie Brooks, Bess 
Parrish and M. S., none of them to be depended on. 

To show thee how large my organ of hope is, how- 
ever, I am now arranging with Sister Mary to go to 
Washington as soon as I am able for sight-seeing. Just 

*At the time the burglars entered Millbourne House, Anne Gar- 
rett was staying there, and was awakened by them; and after they 
were gone she said, " Oh, Aunt Pattie, put me in Grandfather's 
bed, for I feel very misable,"' Pattie always after that used Anne's 
word as most expressive of complete despair. 



1887, 1888. 285 

now I simply hate the thought of it, and a trip to Wil- 
mington is quite restful instead. 

Do not make any calculations on me this week or 
next. After that my dissipation in " massage " will be 
over, and I can dip into other frivolities. It seems like 
a wild extravagance to go on with " massage," as I have 
been sick ever since I began; but I am very sure it has 
helped my stomach, if not my throat, and I do not want 
to lose what I have gained by stopping off too soon. A 
pass to Altoona, and an urgent invitation, do not move 
me, and if I go anywhere, Fin, I will go to see thee. 
Thee has hardihood enough to carry thee through, but 
I warn thee I am at my worst, and Helen and Anna will 
not find entertainment in my society. Bessie came 
down for me to go there to-day, but finally advised my 
staying at home, so thee sees I am really not worth hav- 
ing. Just hug thyself that I am not coming, for my 
ups and downs are most uninteresting, and the wreck of 
thy brilliant and lovely and fascinating sister would be 
more than thee could bear! If this beastly weather will 
ever change, I can go out and get some renewing from 
the air; but " here I sit a-washing, nobody comes to see 
me "; and with this word to the wise, I will leave thee. 

3303 Hamilton Street, June 28th, 1888. 

Enclosed please find a very mysterious document for- 
warded to me. As thy hospital instincts may need a lit- 
tle enlarging, and as my friends are few, I conclude to 
pick thee out as Number 23. Of all things, I hate this 
way of getting money; but it is not the money, but the 
trouble, I grudge. If I were the " daughter of the Dean 
of Westminster," I think I would know how to express 
myself more clearly, forcibly and concisely; but since I 
have no antecedents, I cannot do more than copy it as 
it is. 

Now, I know thee is about as dumb as I am, so I 



286 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

will give thee the benefit of my cogitations on the sub- 
ject. In the first place, two copies are to be made of my 
enclosure, and thee can choose two friends who will, or 
can, be victimized, and send each a copy! After this, thee 
takes the paper I send, and enclosing three two-cent 
stamps, addresses the same to Mrs. F. H. N., signing thy 
name and address at the end of my paper, and the job 
is jobbed. Now, I know thee will hate this, but thee 
has deputies in thy daughters, so I am not going to pity 
thee. . . . 

Alice and I talk of the Warm Springs of Virginia 
for my rheumatism, or the Water Gap to confirm it, or 
Wernersville to stew alive; but wait until this rain is 
over, and then, as George says: "Don't be surprised at 
anything you hear! " 

Please thank Chellie for her recipe, which I have not 
yet tried. She took almost as much trouble for me as 
I ask thee to take for the philanthropic daughter of the 
Dean of Westminster, and no glory thrown in. . . . 

Poor Sis is quite used up with the heat, and possibly 
too much confusion with the children. It is hard lines 
on mothers, but I do not think grandmothers are fit to 
begin life over again. Sis has no dragon of a daughter 
to protect her from herself, but I cannot regret that 
ugly and thankless position which I once held. 

If thee sees Harpers, do read " Two Countries," by 
Henry James. It is good character-painting, and both 
countries are well represented, although I do not care for 
Henry James as a steady diet! 

I spent yesterday at Darby, and intended staying all 
night; but I came back after supper, much to my relief 
this morning, with my disabled arm, and the steady 
pour. I must write to my dear Sary, although there is 
positively nothing to tell her. . . . 

Love to all the dear circle, and do not forget little 
Frances, to whom I enclose a picture. Tell her to show 



1887, 1888. 287 

the cats to Val, and frighten him, and ask him if he 
wouldn't like some of their good milk. 

Delaware Water Gap, July 15th, 1888. 

Enclosed, dear Fin, please find a very entertaining 
letter of Sary's which was forwarded to me here. Know- 
ing the necessity of making a round-robin of our foreign 
correspondence, I start this on its way. They are hav- 
ing an ideal time, from which I argue there are no 
rheumatic arms in the party. Night and day mine 
makes me "misable," and even the entertainment af- 
forded by new acquaintances cannot make me forget it 
for a moment. Mrs. D/s sister, Mrs. B., and I are quite 
intimate. She wears very gorgeous rings, and she loves 
to see me looking at them! She has exhausted all the 
glories of Mrs. D/s possessions, even to her numerous 
children and grandchildren, and is now on her own. 
She says, " Being a widow without children, and without 
cares, and with ample means, I can go to any place and 
stay as long as I choose. This time my plans are all up- 
set by the death of my brother-in-law, Dr. L. ; and in- 
tending to go to Europe, I am forced to stay at home to 
be with his daughters a while. I think I will take them 
up to Halifax, just for the trip. Were you ever at Hali- 
fax, Miss Sellers?" This was my opportunity, Fin, and 
I embraced it!! Then she tried me on Washington, and, 
oh, yes, I had often been there. She belongs to the old 
Washington society, not the new, and gave me many 
items of news in high life. Here I was at fault, but she 
had never been to Annie Van Mater's, and I described 
the situation with enthusiasm, which Sister Mary con- 
firmed. Then having introduced her to Sister Mary, 
they hobnobbed for some time; but Alice says she wants 
nothing to do with her! This is only because she is jeal- 
ous, of course; but when I repeated to Alice Mrs. B/s 



288 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

flattering remarks on her appearance, she visibly 
softened. 

We have been greatly interested in two young girls, 
who came to our table night before last. On principle 
I always talk to strangers at the table, and for this rea- 
son Lizzie and Mildred always made me take the end 
seat in our European trip. Well, these young girls had 
just arrived, and they gave in their experience to us in 
this wise: " We wanted a nice place in the mountains, 
and wrote to a place that was most favorably noticed in 
the Baltimore papers. Mother allowed us to start first, 
she was so anxious to get us out of town; and she and 
Sister and a cousin are to come to-morrow. Well, ac- 
cording to arrangement, we got out at the Gap station, 
and drove to a house which is about two miles from 
here. The minute we saw the place and the people we 
knew we could never stay, and said so. The woman who 
kept the house did all she could to keep us, and when 
we said it seemed too lonely, she said: ' Oh, there are 
some nice young men in the neighborhood, and my 
daughters will introduce you.' This confirmed our feel- 
ings, and we got away as fast as we could, and were only 
too glad to get rooms at the Kittatinny." We had a great 
deal of talk with them at the table, and laughed at their 
funny descriptions, and one of them said: u Oh, if our 
brothers get hold of this they will never have done 
making fun of us. They will call it i the girl's experi- 
ment/ and all that sort of thing." The next thing was 
to guard their mother and the rest of the party from 
falling into the same snare, and one of the girls met the 
train last night and waylaid them, bringing them in 
triumphantly at tea time. They gave their names to us 

as P , from Baltimore, and they seem very pleasant 

indeed; but the party was too large to stay at our table, 
so we have not had any further revelations. Everybody 
scatters after meals, and I generally go out walking with 



1887, 1888. 289 

Alfred Sellers and his wife, who are explorers. They 
call for me every morning, and to-day Sis is going with 
us in a most romantic stroll. 

(Afternoon.) — Well, we came in from our walk just 
now, dear Fin, and found thy letter with the book for- 
warded from West Philadelphia. Thee has quite taken 
me down by thy compliments on my haphazard letters, 
but anyhow I do not care much, for there is really noth- 
ing of importance to tell. My arm got so painful we 
were obliged to shorten our walk, and since then I have 
been tramping up and down my room like a tiger. 

It is not any worse than at Wilmington, but quite as 
bad as I want. Sis is the youngest of the party, and 
has been laughing and talking like a miss of sixteen to a 
woman at table. Then last night Mrs. Brodhead (the 
wife of the proprietor) claimed acquaintance with her as 
an old neighbor in Vine street, and they hobnobbed to- 
gether for some time. . . . 

Last evening Miss Ludlow asked me if I was the sis- 
ter of Mr. William Sellers, who crossed the Atlantic with 
them two years ago. This brought us into close quar- 
ters, and we found many mutual acquaintances. She 
admired William very much, and preserved a bright 
recollection of the fine fruit he had with him. 

Thy account of dear little Frances makes me long 
to see her more than ever, and I have the same feeling 
to her that I used to have for thy children, who live in 
my memory quite apart from their present selves. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, July 25th, 1888. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, with the " Bread Pills " came 
last evening when I was walking the floor in agony with 
my arm. I feel very apologetic about insisting on this 
pain after thy exhortations, and the plain statement that 
it is only the " physical reflection of mental discord." 
Well, I acknowledge the discord; but nobody feels more 



290 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

perfectly amiable and lovely than I do when I am free of 
pain. It is hard for me to believe that spiritual serenity 
can alter the fact of these terrible spells of rheumatism. 
I did not sleep at all the other night, and early in the 
morning Mr. Smith went up for Mary Sellers, who came 
down and gave me a dose of her battery. She also kindly 
left it here; and Tom renewed the dose at night/ and 
again this morning. Now I am at a loss to know 
whether the alleviation is from this direct means, or 
because I have carefully read the " Bread Pills/ 7 and 
digested thy letter. Truly, I cannot but appreciate thy 
efforts on my behalf; and thee need not be the least 
afraid of " boring " me with Christian Science. It is 
of great interest to me, but quite beyond my compre- 
hension practically. Both thee and Mrs. Chick exhort 
the patient to " make an effort/' but poor Mrs. Dombey 
dropped off before she could do it, and I am made after 
that weak pattern, I fear. Thy splendid health is not 
all attributable to the spirit conquering the flesh, but 
{to my thinking) is largely due to the entire rest from 
.anxious thoughts. These were a necessity once, but are 
now quite superfluous; leaving in their stead that quiet- 
ness and confidence which is strength. It seems to me 
rather an assumption, in " Bread Pills " and other writ- 
ings of the Christian Scientists, that " I am holier than 
thou "; but it is not common sense to me, although I 
iirmly believe that the mind can lift one out of the ills 
of the flesh, temporarily at least. Still, curing by faith 
seems stepping backward instead of forward in this prac- 
tical age, where we find the laws of Nature all-pervading. 
To tell the truth, however, I do not care whether I am 
cured by faith, or by care, or by medicine; I only know 
I am tired of posing forever as an invalid, and tiring 
everybody out with my complaints. When I am better I 
am a thorough believer in the Mind Cure, but when I 
am wrenched with pain I have no mind to speak of, and 



1887, 1888. 291 

no faith in anything. None the less, I never get so low 
as not to appreciate affection, and I hope the stoicism of 
thy Christian Science will never chill that for thy loving 

M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, September 20th, 1888. 

. . . Since my return from Altoona, my mind has 
been turned into most prosaic channels, — I have been 
battling with the stove question; for thee knows all I 
have suffered at the hands of too small a " Victor." I 
am kept on the rampage on account of the coal that 
is burned by having to force the fire, and have finally 
concluded to go into the business thoroughly. Bessie 
and I went in town to-day, and thoroughly tired our- 
selves out, mind and body. My choice is made for one 
of Spear's, which seems to combine the most for the al- 
lowed space. The man is to come out in the morning 
to measure and arrange, and the result is yet to be de- 
termined. While I have deliberately concluded to go 
naked, if necessary, and get the stove, I was not quite 
prepared to adapt that novel costume for all time; but 
thee will see there is no other alternative. After months 
of entreaties I have finally induced Pennocks to send a 
man to examine our roof, which was leaking badly. 
His report is to the effect that a new tin roof is neces- 
sary on the flat, and that much of the slate on the other 
part needs to be renewed. Now, who is going to pay 
for this, does thee think? I often think of Helen's ad- 
vice not to worry about expenditure, but I believe this 
advice to be founded on the supposition that I will not 
last long anyhow, and I might as well be comfortable. 
If I could be sure of this, I would do many things which 
are needed, simply from a longing to express myself in 
my house, developing all its capabilities. Not knowing 
the future, however, I am wondering how far it would 
be safe to trust to a shortened existence! Perhaps 



#92 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

Helen will give me a dose when I have reached the limit, 
but I am quite determined nobody shall have much to 
rejoice over when I am dead. 

Now, the corn pudding is the present consideration, 
and in that alone can thee help me, so put forth thy 
powers of penmanship before the thought is swallowed 
up by others more important. If Annie's arrangements 
are going on, I want to know; and if she and Harry are 
tired of each other, I want to know that, too. It is 
quite a necessity to me to know all about you, and what 
you are doing. . . . 

The warm weather has quite taken the starch out 
of me, and after the pure mountain air of Altoona, I 
feel as if this were sifted through a blanket. I had a 
lovely little visit there, and was charmed with their 
camping-place. 

Katie is waiting to mail this, so make out what sense 
thee can in it, and write to me at once, expressing the 
harrowing disappointment you undoubtedly felt at my 
absence. Good-bye, with love to everybody, and kisses 
for the children. 



TO ANNIE GARRETT. 
3303 Hamilton Street, September 28th, 1888. 

Thy postal, Annie dear, fills me with satisfaction, 
for now I can see the whole thing myself. Any other 
house would be quite confusing to my mind, but having 
examined this, and gazed out of all the windows, I know 
how nice it is. I almost wish I were one of the 
old women in the home, so I might keep thee under my 
eye. Nothing could suit better for thy hospital mother, 
who must perforce go by thy door in the performance 
of the duties. It all seems so funny for thee to set up 
for thyself, but I am interested in all that comes into 
thy basket and store. 



1887, 1888. 293 

I hope the dresses will soon be done, and things 
more to my taste undertaken. Desks and papers and 
every " fixin' " for a house is in my line, and anything 
I can do will be a delight to me. 

This room is full of people talking politics, and be- 
fore they come to blows I must put in my oar. I wish 
they would stop unsettling my principles, for I do not 
care which man is president, only I cannot stand these 
eternal quarrels. Tariff reform is nothing to me unless 
it will bring foreign art into our crude borders. I 
have just imported a picture, which sounds very large, 
but thee shall see it and judge some day. 

Now I must pitch into this wild talk, and thee must 
make what sense thee can of my letter. I have stopped 
every other word to hurl a sentence at the Democrats, 
or feebly uphold a Kepublican, so now this is the re- 
sult. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 19th, 1888. 

The two energetic, characteristic letters of my two 
sisters reached me this morning, and cover me with 
shame and confusion of face, s I wonder when my turn 
will come for accomplishing things. Certainly not un- 
der the present conditions. It would, perhaps, show 
more strength of character if I simply waited for my 
time to come, but I feel like explaining to you that you 
must be full of the thankfulness for health and strength, 
yet still keep sympathy afloat for those less favored. 
I am very grateful for your interest about my deafness, 
which never existed, for you must know I heard too 
much instead of too little. The wild confusion of 
sounds in which I live hardly allows my mind to work 
clearly on anything. How little real sympathy people 
have for what they have not felt! When I look back to 
the distress Mother endured in this way, I feel that 
we were all wretches not to know how to relieve it. 



294 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Well, in my own case I went to the nearest doctor, who 
soon laid me out stiff on the floor. This was a week 
ago, and ever since I have been trying to go to Dr. 
Strawbridge, but kept in a fainting condition so much 
of the time that I could not be up. Yesterday, how- 
ever, I went, and was calmly informed that my " ear- 
drum was perforated, no doubt by some third-rate doc- 
tor! " He said all my faintness was caused by this, 
and added, " You must have superhuman energy to 
keep up at all; many people are so giddy they cannot 
stand a minute under such conditions! " Well, I came 
home a wiser woman, but not sadder; for it was a real 
relief to know there was some cause for this prolonged 
misery. He thinks it will need careful treatment for a 
while, but expects to make it well and whole again. 
Now, the moral of this is, Put not your faith in doc- 
tors! . . . 

I pity all whose lives are wrecked for them by as- 
sumption of knowledge in these miserable doctors. How 
do you think I feel to Dr. K.? Not in a Christian 
spirit, I can assure you; and Sister Mary is even more 
indignant than I about it. I was too " mis " to be mad, 
and so she has taken it up for me. To-morrow she 
goes to Orange for Christmas, and I have just seen a 
lovely etching Steve sent her for this festive season. 
Sellers and Annie also gave her a high lamp, so she 
can draw it up to the piano, and sit and play by the 
hour!! 

Bessie seems to be getting really better, and we all 
feel much encouraged about her, but she is still " an 
exile from home." She will take Christmas dinner 
with her home surroundings, however, and Steve is 
charmed that she is encouraged herself. I seem to 
know nothing now-a-days about anybody. The little 
game of "here I sit a-washing, nobody comes to see 
me," has been in my thoughts continually. Even the 



1887-1888. 295 

postman joined in it, and I hated that. Letters are the 
only thing I can expect in this joyous season, when 
everybody's interests are at home; but I finally suc- 
ceeded in stirring you two people up just before you had 
forgotten my existence. . . . 

Everything you tell me is of the greatest interest, 
and I am crazy to see Herbert's house, and Annie's, and 
everybody's; but all must wait until I get myself to- 
gether enough to enjoy things. Certainly not with 
holes in my ears, which ought not to be there. 

Now, whomever this letter is to I am sure I do not 
know, but I think it is meant for two answers instead 
of one. If I could be so mean as to envy your useful- 
ness, I could also be mean enough to grasp all I can get 
from you, even in letters. Love to everybody. 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 25th, 1888. 

Dear, dear People: Who is the proper person to 
write to in your crazy household? I know not, but I 
certainly think you are in a condition to be looked 
after! Why you should give so many lovely things to 
me I cannot conceive, and how you have never found 
me out is more of a wonder still. First, Helen, who be- 
gan when she was a mere baby to believe in Aunt Pattie, 
and went on into womanhood hugging this delusion; 
who employs the time of mumps in making pretty 
things for her, and never realizes how she is making 
my gray hairs a shame and a reproach. Her gift im- 
plies silken tresses of great weight and beauty, and a 
maid standing behind my chair to arrange this wealth 
of luxuriant growth!!! Then her mother, whose every 
minute is precious (both in public and private capac- 
ity), to take the time to make this dainty apron for 
unworthy me! It fills me with sorrow that I am like 
the little girl in Original Poems, whose company was 
declined by the Bird, Bee and Ant, " while I'm loung- 



296 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ing here like a dunce." The comparison is odious at 
all times, but Christmas emphasizes it. Then Chellie, 
to push her dear little innocent daughter to the front to 
send me this sweet little etching, when she knows I 
ought to be sending them something instead. And 
Anne, to look me calmly in the face when I told her the 
other night of receiving a box from Helen, never be- 
traying by word or glance that she had anything to do 
with it. I was quite touched to find it from " Harry 
and Anne," but, then, I believe you are all crazy! 
Words are wanting to tell about my Christmas, and I 
begin to believe everybody is crazy but " yours truly." 
Sister Mary is always " a deep one," and here is a beau- 
tiful little chair from her, and I know she tired her poor 
feet running after it. Then Carrie sent me a fine robe- 
dress, in which I will fake you all down some of these 
times; and Sary such a satin petticoat as you people 
never saw. And Clem, oh, he is good, but crazy, too. 
Then such a pretty cracker jar from Sellers and Annie, 
and a book from Mr. Flint, and a bonnet brush from 
his Aunt Fanny, with the sweetest little note in the 
world. I might almost believe I was worth something 
to somebody from it, but then she is also crazy! And 
Annie Patterson and Susy and Sally W., and everybody 
who could possibly get up an excuse for a present, sent 
me lovely things, and I have done nothing, and feel like 
a heathen to receive so much. 

There is no time to express myself farther, but I 
hope there is an insane department in the new hospital 
for some of you; that is all I can say, and hope you will 
turn over new leaves, every one of you. 



CHAPTEE XVI. 

1889. 
3303 Hamilton Street, January 17th, 1889. 

Thy small note, dear Fin, ought to have received 
some notice at my hands; but I never do just as i ought. 
To-day I have been pumping Sister Mary until she has 
accounted for every minute of her time with thee, and 
so I feel almost as if I had been there myself. She had 
a lovely visit, as of course I knew she must, and ad- 
mired everything from Saide's house down to thine! 
She was really captivated with Sary's house, and filled 
with wonder at her industry. She is equally struck 
with the sugggestiveness of the Garrett family, 
until I begin to feel it quite an honor to be a relation. 
She thinks, with me, that you are entirely able to man- 
age your own affairs, and I consider it the grossest af- 
fectation for thee to call upon me for consultation or 
advice. 

Anne and I had not half a chance to-day to display 
our abilities in shopping. We could not wade knee- 
deep in mud and appear with any effect as buyers. We 
could not mix up dry-goods with piano, or lattice-work 
with hair-pins. I am crazy for thee to have the door- 
way decorated with this Japanese lattice, and Anne 
has no doubt set thee wild over the Japanese papering. 
Well, thee cannot have it, so do not say a word about it. 
The cretonne was the best for the price, decidedly, and 
Anne deliberately turned her back on higher prices. She 
is her Father's own child in this, and no relation to her 
mother! She will no doubt tell thee of our expedi- 
tion about the piano, which is not all a joke, thee sees. 
T. C. S. is the instigator, promoter, and backer in this 



298 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

wild scheme. We managed it together for our mutual 
pleasure, but my part in it is so small that I want every- 
body to know it is his piano, and in case of my death 
that part of the furniture must not be claimed by my es- 
tate. Do tell Anne that Tom was perfectly incensed 
when I told him how that man looked at her, and with- 
out any knowledge of our farther investigation, said 
promptly: " That settles it, I will never buy a piano 
from him." He goes in the morning to look at the 
other one and make his own arrangements. Just now, 
finding I was writing to thee, he said: " I feel some- 
how as if I ought to apologize to Miss Anne about that 
man; I feel mixed up with him since I joked with her 
about it." I told him Anne wouldn't make that mix 
anyway, so no need for words. There are lots of men 
who are as low down as this hateful Jew, and fasten 
their hungry eyes on the young and fair, but in this in- 
stance he lost by it. ... 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 11th, 1889. 

This is the first minute, dear Fin, in which to read 
my mail of the morning, much less to answer it. 

We have had a terrible time and no mistake, ever 
since my return from Wilmington. That seems like a 
peaceful dream; this like a horrible nightmare. Katie 
developed typhoid, and I wanted to push down all the 
walls of the house. Cramped quarters are not for sick- 
ness, and I am now ready to go to the top of a high 
mountain to get pure air. 

It would have been very funny if it were not tragic, — 
the scenes enacted in this house of late. Our main ob- 
ject was to get Katie moved to the hospital, but she 
positively refused to go. This is what she had shunned 
all her life, " and I shall shun it till my death." All 
the powers of the Church were brought to bear, but 
she defied both priest and doctor. Meantime, Sister 



1889. 299 

Mary and Bess were simply wild, and holding conclaves 
with her relations, and councils with everybody else. 
I felt helpless but determined, and the fury downstairs 
and the stolid determination in the bed upstairs were al- 
most maddening. . . . 

Finally the nurse and I together made a vigorous ap- 
peal, and Katie said, " for peace sake," she would go. 
We didn't care for any sake, but the carriage was or- 
dered at once, and she was bundled up and put in 
against her will, and driven off to the Women's Homeo- 
pathic Hospital, the nurse going with her. When they 
were once out of the house I collapsed and settled into 
a deep rest; but the lift was beyond expression. Now, 
to-day I have rushed from one thing to another to get 
off to the hospital, which is at the other end of nowhere. 
I never saw that part of Philadelphia before; but it is 
a beautiful building, and in elegant order. I spent an 
hour or more there with Katie, who seems pretty sick. 
. . . The doctor says that under the most favorable cir- 
cumstances we need not expect her to be well, or even 
able to be about, under a month, so thee sees what I 
have escaped. ... 

I am now busy cleaning up Katie's room, and fumi- 
gating things generally. I never was so oppressed with 
the size of our rooms, especially in the kitchen arrange- 
ments. . . . 

All I want to do is to batter down the walls, but 
failing in this, I am having everything else imaginable 
done to purify. The relief of having Katie out of the 
house is inexpressible, and we did everything decently 
and in order for her, not even omitting the burning of 
candles during the priest's visit. Even this did not 
bring her to terms, and she figuratively snapped her fin- 
gers at the priest, at the church, aye, even the Pope 
himself. However, she seemed tolerably content to- 
day, but quite overcome at seeing me, poor thing! . . . 



300 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 4th, 1889. 

Inauguration day! And such a day! Well, my 
mind is not bent upon political advancement, nor am I 
the least interested in Harrison, but finding my world 
a very narrow one, I may as well tell thee about that. 
Thy letter reached me at breakfast time, when Tom and 
I were indulging in the delicacy of hard little bullets, 
called biscuits, made by the fairy hand of M. S. This 
will induce thee to think I am still without Girda. But 
no! my last letter had hardly gone when she put in an 
appearance, and was warmly welcomed, I assure thee. 
She made me the prettiest little courtesy, and said, 
" My mother presents her compliments to you! " which 
had a most fascinating effect on my artistic nature. 
Well, I find my aptitude is not as great as hers, and 
when I read this morning in thy letter of my " superior 
abilities," I simply smiled a bitter smile, and felt my 
deficiencies more than ever. . . . 

This morning I found we were entirely out of bread, 
and suggested some soda biscuit, telling her just how 
to make them (making it up out of the whole cloth), 
and showing her a little before I left to dress. When 
I came down she had beaten them up scientifically, but 
neglected to put any salt or powder in them, and so it 
could not very well be added. However, I tried to 
show her again, and we made a concoction which any 
boy would prefer to marbles. . . . 

Bessie says I ought to pin my faith to Mrs. Borer, 
and I have all kinds of cook-books but hers. In truth, 
I am only just getting to know where the things are, 
and what we need, and what we might as well throw 
away. 

Yesterday, after dinner, I proposed to Girda that 
she should go up and see her mother, which perfectly 
delighted her. I told her if it was very stormy, she had 
better stay all night; only trying to get here in time to 



1889. 301 

get breakfast. Well, sure enough, in the pouring rain 
she came, a little before seven, and again making the 
same little courtesy, she said, " My mother was so much 
obliged to you; she tell me her great compliments to 
Miss Sailor!! " In view of this " Miss Sailor " being in 
a frowsy condition, with an old wrapper on, at the time 
of our interview, I assure thee I felt very unworthy of 
either compliments or regal deportment. None the less 
I appreciated it, and forgave the biscuit in consequence. 

Now, I know my two knowledgable sisters would 
store her mind with recipes and such like, but so far 
I have done nothing but help her to get the kitchen 
closets in order, that she may know where to find things 
herself. 

At present my feet are dropping off me with aches, 
and inwardly I feel a good deal discouraged because 
there seems so much to teach. Girda, with all her fasci- 
nations, is undoubtedly slow, and I work around her, 
and over her, and get sick tired, nor " stay my haste nor 
make delays." Truly, " what avails this eager pace ? " 
Girda thoughtfully looks at me, and I feel as if I might 
well sink in her estimation as I do in my own. I think 
the only thing that will put me right will be for my two 
dear sisters to come up and stay all night, and counsel 
with me, so to speak. All thy sweet little sermons are 
stored away, and I bring them out on occasions when I 
do not need them, but when I do I am too busy to think 
of them!! 

It is quite time my mind should have a lift out of 
the prosaic, so I hail the announcement of the New Cen- 
tury Club for Wednesday, — subject, " The Esthetics of 
Benevolence." Maybe I can get some recipes out of that 
as good as Mrs. Rorer's. There is also an announce- 
ment of a course of lectures by John Fiske on " Some 
Prominent American Citizens " ; the first, Thomas 
Hutchinson, whoever he is! None of these opportuni- 



302 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ties can I afford to slight, and yet I may, unless I can 
walk on my head, which might occasion remark. My 
feet have absolutely given out under the combined in- 
fluence of hard work and bad weather, either of which 
would have been enough to stagger me. . . . 

This letter has been written at odds and ends of 
time, and seems to have no point to it. I have been 
lying on the sofa groaning with my aching limbs, and 
now sitting at the parlor window watching the drip- 
ping streets and the few unfortunates who have to go 
out. Our good neighbors across the way have supplied 
my needs in bread, and so we will have something bet- 
ter than bullets for supper. I think it is thy duty to 
write me out an easy way to learning in the way of bis- 
cuits, and above all the fine touches in muffins, waffles, 
etc., which seem like air or water, or any other natural 
thing in your house. I never knew before the extent 
of my ignorance. 

Girda has come in to ask " Miss Sailor can she go 
out a minute to kitchen," so I will say good-bye, and 
hope the next letter will be better worth having. I 
am ready to be lifted up by your elevating society when- 
ever you can come, only do not expect anything like 
good things, excepting in the ever fresh and genuine 
welcome, from M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 7th, 1889. 

Well, Fin, the Christian Science of self-deception 
will not work with me and Girda. No matter how 
much I may say to myself, " She is all right, and will 
make a good cook," the evidences of three meals a day, 
and all my care and instruction thrown in, are simply 
incontrovertible. She will never make a cook, and no 
matter how much I may desire it I am not strong 
enough to do without palatable food. Under these cir- 
cumstances I am compelled to think of parting with all 



1889. 303 

the picturesqueness of the household. She is lovely 
and queen-like, and I such a hopeless drudge that I feel 
very badly not to keep her; but this morning I have 
finally given out, and know that some change must be 
made. While she sits in her room in the evening play- 
ing the guitar, I am groaning on the sofa in the parlor; 
and the childlike trust she evinces continually that all 
is right cuts me to the heart, thinking I must soon un- 
deceive her. If I could keep two girls, she would be 
one; but when she is the only one, I find life a failure. 
To go back to Irish is a great downfall, but I cannot 
live in daily disappointments and lessening expecta- 
tions. . . . 

Mrs. Eeese just this minute called to tell me of a 
girl she had heard of, and I am to see her to-day. She 
also borrowed a flannel wrapper for Mrs. Sidney Lanier, 
who is coming there to stay all night. How mortified 
my orderly sisters would be if they could see the old 
rag I lent her, but I wasn't going to have her sleep in 
my nice one! This association with the poetical ele- 
ments is inspiring, and with Girda's fine personality 
might well lift me up out of kettles and pans. I took 
a double precaution also through the Century Club and 
Fiske's lectures, both of which I attended, but I believe 
I am too hopelessly " born to love pigs and chickens " 
to rise from this condition. 

I will look for you to-morrow, and whenever you 
come, the welcome is ready. 

3303 Hamilton Street, May 16th, 1889. 

After my last outpouring of woes to thee, dear Fin, 
no doubt thee will dread a letter from this quarter. 
However, this time my wail is of a different character, 
and much more easily borne. Last night I went in to 
see Mrs. Eeese a minute, and Miss Hallowell opened 
the door. I said, " I came in simply to tell my woes." 



304 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

With uplifted hand she said, " Your girl is gone ! " 
" No/' said I; " but you're pretty warm/' Yes, the 
picturesque Girda has gone back on me. Her mother 
and relatives generally have unsettled her, and made 
her think she will be sick if she does kitchen-work in 
summer-time. Why they couldn't have found this out 
a few weeks ago, when Katie was hovering around wait- 
ing for the place, I cannot tell; but I feel " wounded 
in the house of my friends," with all Girda' s devotion 
going for nothing. She herself seems really distressed 
about it, but relations are too many for me. Certainly 
I will never get another girl with her untiring and gra- 
cious ways. She is to go with her mother to the coun- 
try next week, as they think the old lady is failing in 
the city. The real fact is, they do not need to work, 
and so can pick and choose. Yesterday afternoon Girda 
came upstairs, and told me her mother and sister-in-law, 
also their pastor and his wife, were downstairs: "Which 
room shall I show them? " At random I replied, " The 
dining-room; " but by the time she got down, they had 
settled themselves in the parlor; and I upstairs specu- 
lated on the chances of any friends of my own calling. 
It was very funny, and I could not help thinking of 
Eli pretending to doubt some of my stories without a 
witness. Well, after a while Girda came up, and in her 
most modest manner asked, " Could the pastor's wife 
play a little on the piano?" and I said, " Oh, yes, cer- 
tainly; " so imagine the scene, — I, in my old wrapper, 
upstairs, and my servant's company rilling the parlor, 
where they sat for at least half an hour listening to the 
music, which was really very good. " Home, Sweet 
Home," with its variations, was a trine prolonged; but 
the whole thing was so ludicrous I could do nothing but 
laugh, little thinking of the gulf I was approaching. 
After the musician had departed with her husband, the 
" pastor," Girda came to say her mother wanted to see 



1889. 305 

me, so I went down to receive this bombshell of Girda's 
departure. It was most unexpected, and even yet I can 
scarcely realize it. Now, if you know of any girl, please 
remember this " cry from Macedonia." . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, June 17th, 1889. 

No time like the present to answer thy good letter, 
dear Fin. True enough, I took it on my back, and in 
that position found it all too short. I was out all 
morning in this dissolving heat, trying to get a little 
money for the new hospital about to be started in West 
Philadelphia. I was appointed vice-president in view 
of my know-nothing abilities, and I found myself in the 
position of dissent immediately, at the very first meet- 
ing. 

This is a queer world, Fin, and those who live by 
faith may be in the right, but I must have solid ground 
upon which to tread. The idea of taking a house at a 
rent of fifty dollars a month, unfurnished and unpro- 
visioned, with less than one hundred dollars in hand, 

seemed to me a wild and reckless thing. Dr. C , 

the president, said: "I know the money will come; the 
smallest beginning is enough; and if everybody works 
with a will they will be astonished at the result." Yes, 
this is so; I am myself astonished that I have fifty dol- 
lars and upward to hand in to-night, but this hand-to- 
mouth existence seems very precarious. It only brings 
me to reflect on how many different kinds of people it 
takes to make up a world. Dr. C and her follow- 
ers go in the line of the Christian Scientist, who by pro- 
claiming a thing is so makes it so! and per contra, if 
it ought not to be it is not, and cannot have any exist- 
ence. My mind refuses to work in this groove, as thee 
very well knows; although I freely admit the good with 
which it is fraught. 



306 ' THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, June 24th, 1889. 

Whenever I think of answering thy lovely letter, 
dear Fin, there is a stop in my mind. Arguments and 
expostulations are rushing to the point of my pen, but 
I so fully believe in intimations that I must forego the 
pleasure of trying to convince thee, and let this subject 
drop. We seem to stand at opposite ends of the same 
landscape, so thy sunlight is my shadow, and my sun- 
shine is only a dull gray sky to thee, without warmth 
or life. Let us conclude we do not know anything 
about it. 

I have suddenly discovered that I shall be obliged to 
go to Wilmington, for a day at least, about my dress; 
and if thee does not object I propose to stay over night 
at your house. Miss M. has quite misconceived my 
character, and mixed me up with Ellen Terry or some 
other actress. I must insist on the proprieties, and 
not have my lovely form exposed by irresponsible hooks 
and villainous eyes, etc. 

Bess was here last night urging me to go to Atlantic 
City with them to-morrow, but I have an engagement 
on Thursday morning at the dressmaker's here, and be- 
side I do not want to spend the money necessary for At- 
lantic City. It has also become a necessity to pump out 
my ears every day or two, and the continual patching up 
of this corporeal frame has become a very serious bur- 
den. I know what thee would say on this subject, and 
so would I if I had thy standpoint; but wait until thy 
turn comes for such infirmities, — though I pray the 
day may be far distant. 

John and I had a lovely ride yesterday out to see 
Alice, and up through Upper Darby, via the Park, home. 
It did me a world of good. I have just had a deputa- 
tion of Girda's relations to entertain. It is very funny, 
but thee would not believe how I enjoyed it. The old 
mother and I are reduced to shaking hands and little 



1889. 307 

hugs for want of words, but we understand each other, 
and Girda is radiant. 

Now, good-bye, Fin; we are going to have currant 
pie for supper!! Sis is going with Bess to Aalantic 
City to-morrow to stay until Saturday. 

This evening is our hospital meeting, and I hand in 
what I get as a pirate. Money is not hard to get if you 
do not want it for yourself. 

3303 Hamilton Street, August 29th, 1889. 

Thy enclosure of stamps, dear Fin, was like thy 
" masterful " spirit; and I suppose thee thought it was 
very smart to get the " bulge " on me in that way. Well, 
as I happened to be entirely out of stamps, I thought 
so too, and am using the first one on thee. I do not 
exactly follow thy course of thought in the matter, for 
when I am in Wilmington thee assumes it as a right 
to pay my way; but when thee is in Philadelphia, there 
seems to be no difference. The logic of that is not 
clear, but then I do not know that thee pretends to be 
guided by reason. I am glad thee felt thy visit a suc- 
cess. It did not so impress me„ excepting in its results 
for me. Ever since thee left, my path has been 
clearer. . . . 

I am quite triumphant about the paper I chose, for 
it looks so perfectly appropriate for that little room; 
so I am glad I kept my head concerning the egg-shell 
blue. My special paper-hanger said he did not think 
I would regret discarding the blue, and from the twin- 
kle of his eye I am impressed with the idea that he 
knows more than he chooses to tell about it. Both 
rooms look lovely, and now all I want is strength to fix 
them. I have had a long siege, with those books to 
take out and put back again. " Lay not up for your- 
selves treasures upon earth," and I only keep the most 
of these from association. This means care, and I so 



308 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

often think of thy query, " "What do you do with all the 
things you don't know what to do with? "... As to 
the carpets to be mended and put down I say nothing; 
but Eome was not built in a day, and my limitations are 
more and more defined. My working days came too 
late in life, so I cannot do as well as I would like. 

Here I was interrupted by a hurried call from Tom 
on his way to Downingtown. He came to bring me the 
good news of their getting the " Spreckels job, entire "; 
and brought a bottle of champagne out for me on ac- 
count of it!! He has introduced a little faucet into the 
cork, and expects me to " put my lips to it when I am so 
disposed." It certainly has given me a lift in that 
weak spot, but my head has also had a lift in the pro- 
cess! If thee finds any aberration of mind in this let- 
ter, it is from the above circumstances, and should I 
rush into dissipation, it must be because five more bot- 
tles of champagne, " Mumm's Extra Dry," have just 
arrived. Tom is not to be restrained in his expendi- 
tures for me, and I feel quite helpless about it; but I 
am assured there is nothing so good for a weak stomach 
as champagne, and if I get well, that reward will be 
enough for him. 

Thy letter was rather too sweet and tender, dear Fin. 
I am not in a state to bear it, and may as well confess 
myself a fool. Now, our theories are different, but the 
result is the same. Thee thinks my anxious mind 
causes the trouble in my stomach, and I think the 
stomach causes the anxieties and distress. It is all the 
same thing in the end for me, since I do not think I 
am of a melancholy turn when I am well. Just now I 
am continually fighting this depression, which has no 
name but misery; but doesn't thee think it is purely 
physical? — for I am as happy as a clam without it. . . . 



1889. 309 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 18th, 1889. 

Well, Fin! I never expected Sister Mary to get 
ahead of me in this underhand, mean, grasping way. 
I had fully calculated on having thee here, and now I 
shall be obliged to call on thee ceremoniously. How 
horrid!! My cold is on the mend, but still makes me 
hoarse and cross, and susceptible to slights. Disap- 
pointments are not good for me. That kind of disci- 
pline may be good for some people, but it only makes 
me worse, and I advise thee against it. Anna Cog- 
geshall is staying with Sister M. now, and then thee 
comes the very day she goes, and I think thee ought 
to be more considerate, instead of wearing out poor Sis 
with company in this way!! Nobody ever comes to see 
me now, and I want to know why. It surely cannot be 
that you have all found me out. 

Well, old Friend Pike is dead at last, and I shall be, 
too, some of these times, and then you will wish you 
had made more of me. Being only a " yellow prim- 
rose," as thee says, I " can be nothing more "; but it 
would be well to admire even that for what it is! J 
never tried to be a rose, or a dahlia, or a sunflower; 
I never attempted to get up a character for usefulness, 
or a reputation for anything, in fact; I never worked in 
a bazaar, or wrote for the Few Century Club, or helped 
to keep up the reforming of little vagrants. I now see 
my mistake. I should have aimed higher, and so kept 
up a standard which my sisters, at least, would recognize 
and appreciate. Alas! I am no longer worthy to be 
called thy sister! 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 15th, 1889. 

" Now is the accepted time " with me always in an- 
swering letters; when that is past my responsibility 
weakens. 

Thine of the 11th, with the book, roused me up to 



310 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

a great desire for a word with thee; but it was impossi- 
ble to write then, and now I cannot think what I had 
to say. All of this week has been a "wild and des- 
perate chase "after men! I attempted to have the 
fence mended up in front, and the steps moved a little 
to the side. This seemed to me a very little thing, but 
now I know better. First thing of all was the utter 
condemnation of the steps, — they being rotted through 
almost to the outer surface of paint. Then the wild 
turmoil of thought that I ought to have stone steps for 
real economy, and then the weakly giving way to the 
wooden ones, simply because I had not thy bold buc- 
caneering spirit! Then, when the new steps were built, 
the fence fell down between us and the cottage, and all 
the posts in front were brought into requisition to 
shore it up again. The ground was dug out for the 
new steps, when the rain came down in torrents, and 
people who were bold enough to venture a visit had to 
be hauled up and down the bank. Well, it seemed as 
if everybody wanted to come, and they hailed the house- 
hold like a ship at sea; so we had to continually be on 
the lookout for such craft. The gardener stood wait- 
ing for the carpenter, and the painter nagging the gar- 
dener, and M. S. inside fuming and fretting over them 
all. In the midst of the worst day of rain and compli- 
cations came Susy from Altoona. She had been all 
morning at the pottery exhibit at Memorial Hall, and 
came here to stay all night. We were going to see the 
Kendals that evening, and fortunately had a ticket for 
her, which Dick Muckle resigned; so we had a lovely 
evening, and enjoyed the play immensely. Then, when 
we got back home, we had to climb over great gobs of 
mud at the foot of the steps, and tip-toe over broken 
pavement at the top. Next morning I was just starting 
in town with Sue when I discovered the steps were set 
too high from the street, and quite contrary to my direc- 



1889. 311 

tions. By this time the carpenter had gone, and the 
gardener was beginning the sodding of the bank. I 
had to let Susy go alone, and stay to boss the job. To 
get the carpenter to come was one thing, and to make 
him undo his work was quite another; but I stood over 
him with a club, metaphorically, and wore out all my 
nervous tissues in the process. My cold has been so 
wretched that I had no voice or breath to speak of; so 
thee may see therein the triumph of mind over matter 
in that I finally accomplished my purpose. 

Meantime I am supposed to be cutting out night- 
gowns for the hospital, and that this is not accomplished 
thee need not wonder. Instead, my purpose is to get 
my breath now if possible, and let the shivering patients 
know what it is to be without responsible managers. 

This evening I received a message through Miss B. 
that the muslin was waiting for me, but I turn a deaf 
ear, because I want to go to the pottery exhibit at Me- 
morial Hall to-morrow (as the last day) ; and my philan- 
thropy is at all times a rather weakly plant. . . . 

Now, I must not forget to tell thee the final blow 
about my alteration in the steps and mending of the 
fence. John offered to put up a stone wall and stone 
steps, too, out of his own good impulse; but it came too 
late, so I had to decline. It is just as well, but the 
temptation was great. . . . 

Now, all this is a very prosaic account of our lives, 
which were for a few days at least lifted up to heights 
by the conference and thy visit. We need another lift, 
and Wilmington is so far ahead of Philadelphia socially 
that I am sure our needs must be before you. Come 
whenever you can, and come to the right place this time, 
and to thy loving M. S. 



312 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 27th, 1889. 

... I have been asked to furnish a list of twelve of 
the most famous women, and it seems much easier these 
times to find twelve women who are not famous. There 
is certainly a great advance for all women, but I am 
inclined to think there can be no sound basis but equal 
representation. Now, when there is any election in 
Wilmington, if it is only for a garbage contractor, I en- 
treat of thee to go, and for the sake of all other women 
show thy appreciation of real responsibility in selecting 
the best man, no matter what party may claim him. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 9th, 1889. 

. . . The only real objection I have to going to your 
house to Christmas is that I must go empty-handed; and 
that seems such a mean return for such a pleasant op- 
portunity. However, my dear Fin, you must all know 
how I would enrich you if I could, with all the charm- 
ing things you could want. My mind is not fertile in 
ideas, neither is my body very active in carrying them 
out. The dispensation of sewing is just now upon me, 
and I could not stick another stitch for anybody!! I 
am glad thy practice sometimes falls behind thy ideal, 
else thee would be too discouraging. The Christian Sci- 
ence, which teaches to have patience with ourselves, 
would be most helpful if appropriated; but I defy a 
saint to do this under the strain of dress-making, 
so I quite forgive thee for losing ground, since it may 
teach thee to feel with others. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 27th, 1889. 

Well, dear Fin, Christmas is over; and we all begin 
to breathe freely. Everybody, no doubt, worked up to 
the same point, and now there is a natural collapse. I 
did not come home a mite too soon. The table was 



1889. 313 

piled up with documents for me to copy, and so far, at 
noon the next day, I have scarcely looked at them.* 

None of my presents are acknowledged, but I have 
entertained one person after another, repotted my flow- 
ers, unpacked my trunk, put away all my beautiful 
things, and now sit down to bring order out of chaos at 
my desk. 

Enclosed thee will find the critique on " John 
Ward/ 7 written by an old lady of great cultivation and 
narrow views. She speaks several different languages, 
and was for a long while one of the instructors of the 
Boston Home Studies. Nevertheless, thee will see she 
has never grasped the motif of this book, and on her 
plane I do not think it could be grasped. Well, it takes 
all kinds of people to make up our world, so no wonder 
opinions vary. 

I feel so rich with all my presents, and I claim Mr. 
Smith's as well. " The Brittany Cattle " stand on the 
piano, and give it quite a picturesque effect. My shade 
was used last night to our mutual delight, and now I 
am crazy for my beautiful lamp to arrive, which dear 
Clem ordered. Every time a wagon stops at the door I 
run to see if it has arrived, but so far I live on expecta- 
tions only. 

I found a book from Mr. Flint awaiting me. It is 
called " The Journal of a Young Artist," — a Eussian 
Girl; which looks interesting in spite of the unpro- 
nounceable name. 

The Bagdad for the sofa is beautiful, if I only knew 
how to fix it; and the curtains for the door-way most 
appropriate to the carpet and general surroundings. 

When I went up into my room, I found hanging on 
the gaslight a little dark red banner from Annie Patter- 
son, with these lines printed on it in white: 



* She was secretary of the Woman's Hospital, West Philadel- 
phia. 



314 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Sleep sweetly in this quiet room, 

Oh, thou, whoe'er thou art; 
And let no mournful yesterdays 

Disturb thy peaceful heart. 

Nor let to-morrow scare thy rest 

With dreams of coming ill; 
Thy Maker is thy changeless friend, 

His love surrounds thee still. 

Forget thyself, and all the world, 

Put out each glaring light; 
The stars are watching over-head, 

Sleep sweetly, then — good-night! 

She had enclosed it to Tom, with a request it should be 
hung there, and it certainly was a sweet little reminder. 

Theresa Mitchell sent me a little piece of Egyptian 
pottery, and I have just now received from Detroit a 
calendar, compiled by the class of 1890, in Miss Liggett's 
school there. It is beautifully gotten up, and as the 
class consisted of twelve girls, they each took an author, 
and from a study of his works made selections for each 
day of the month. It is certainly a good idea for their 
improvement and our entertainment. 

I ought not to be spending time to tell thee all this, 
my dear. I can see thy look of annoyance to be inter- 
rupted at thy desk with anything not connected with 
the train of thought that keeps thee there. Hospital 
work will positively break up all family feeling, if we 
are each of us faithful to the duties of our positions. 

I cannot take another minute from thy work, or 
mine, but insist on sending my love to everybody. Last 
evening Tom could not get done talking about the chil- 
dren. He thinks they are " simply captivating, and so 
well managed." . . . 

Katie was as much excited over our things as if they 
were for her, and deeply regretted they had not been 
on the table to show Miss Haas (Louise), who called just 
before I got home. She said she " must take a peep 



1889. 315 

into this lovely home " she had heard so much about, 
and Katie shook her head with emphasis when I asked 
if she liked it, and said, " Oh, you know yourself there's 
nothing like it anywhere!! " 

Now give my love to Sary, and tell her my tooth is 
better. None the less, I may not need that excuse. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

1890 and 1891. 

January 20th, 1890. 

If I compare my life with that of Sister Mary I am 
in a whirl of gaiety, and I read the riot act to her the 
other day about her withdrawing her name from the 
Hospital Board. Finally, I got her to reconsider this 
decision, and I so informed the managers. Mrs. S. 
asked me how I persuaded her, and I said, " With a 
stick." She needs to be battered into some sort of opin- 
ion of herself, and I know the feeling so well that I can 
use a metaphorical club with great effect. 

What thee tells me about B. M. interests me greatly, 
and I hope you will have great patience with her, for 
the readjustment of life is often from the standpoint 
of ignorance rather than wilfulness, and I feel like hold- 
ing out my arms to keep such stumblers from my own 
mistakes. Good things come long after you have ceased 
to care for them, but still they come, and all things are 
evened up when rebellion ceases. 

LETTER TO S. S. SMYTH. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 28th, 1890. 

Sary, my dear, how can thee ask me, or the K. S. 
expect me to join them to-morrow night? Do you not 
know that Thomas gives his second symphony concert 
then, and that I have been waiting for it with some im- 
patience? Under these circumstances it is no inference 
against the distinguished company at your house to de- 
cline to meet them. If I could make myself into two 
people one of them would certainly be with you. I 



* 1890, 1891. 317 

know the attractions of most of the people, and con- 
sider Miss Winslow goes without saying. When Alice 
and Mary Mather condescend to visit me, I hope she 
will meet them, — always supposing she is a K. S. 

This morning, when I went in to Miss D/s lecture, 
she astounded me with the information that, after all 
the arrangements, she did not get to "Wilmington at 
all. Her conclusion was that she could not he meant 
to go, as she had fulfilled all the necessary preliminaries, 
and the forgetfulness of the hack-driver was phenome- 
nal. No doubt she treated herself to a dose of Chris- 
tian Science, as she said she " felt terribly worried at 
first, but soon overcame this state of confusion! " I 
suggested she should treat the hack-driver; but who will 
treat the Wilmington people, I wonder? I told her it 
was simply because I could not go that she was hin- 
dered, but next time I shall be there. She cannot go 
until week after next, but then you may expect me, if 
her invitation is continued, — and mine! 

We had a beautiful lecture to-day, and I wished for 
Alice, not because she is so bad, but the reverse, and 
also because I am so good; I wanted company. Sister 
M., being only in her first course, remains still in her 
sins, but while the lamp holds out to burn, etc., etc. 

I entreated Miss D. to take her little blackboard with 
her to Wilmington, as the diagrams are so helpful. I 
walk around with the sweet sense of a funnel of light 
pouring down upon me, and, as she assures us, all the 
good we could wish asking our acceptance. In case 
you see any extra brilliancy, or my natural goodness 
emphasized in any way, you may know that these little 
diagrams are doing their work, or else I have turned 
my back on my former companions! The mental alti- 
tude is much easier to comprehend than the fact of its 
effect on the body; but I am promised great things. The 
very tissues alter to harmonize with the thoughts, and 



318 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

these being good, it will be impossible to be ugly, sick, 
or miserable; — so there!! 

It was very nice in Mrs. Weimar to think of invit- 
ing me to her lecture on Cavour, but it will be just like 
my luck to have too many good things at once, and I am 
pretty sure it will come on one of Miss D/s days. Now 
" Eepresentative Men " may suit my intellectual crav- 
ing, but the " continuity of thought " must be pre- 
served, in spite of fate. 

Please tell Fin that in the March number of the 
Atlantic Monthly she will find a most interesting arti- 
cle on " Bruno," his life, trial, and death, by Thayre. 
You had better read it if you want to be anybody! At 
the library they say they cannot answer the demand for 
the book; so fashion reigns even in literature. . . . 

March 29th, 1890. 

A week ago I got up a tremendous excitement in a 
small circle. For the first time in my life I was really 
ill, instead of ailing; and that has more dignity at least. 
As a Christian Scientist I cannot tell thee anything 
about it, but as I am alive instead of dead, I want you 
to know it. Bessie says I "have passed through a 
crisis." This sounds like Dr. B., who was never sur- 
prised by any developments, but manifested the extreme 
of satisfaction in unpleasant details related by patients. 
It also recalls Mr. G.'s youthful spirit of caution in tell- 
ing us what he aimed at after it was hit. Well, I was 
forced back onto the low level of a doctor, who pulled 
me through about two o'clock at night, and ever since 
has been trying to poison me with drugs. Yesterday 
I deliberately poured all the remedies out, washed the 
bottles, fixed up the closet, and locked the door; thus 
figuratively expressing my opinion of the medical fra- 
ternity. B. comes down to give me a boost every day, 
and insists that this illness was a necessity, in view of 



1890, 1891. 319 

turning out all the old thoughts, and altering the plan 
of life, etc., etc. She does me good, although I do not 
believe more than half she says; but it is interesting, 
and " amuses her, and don't hurt me," like the man who 
allowed his wife to whip him. 

March 31st, 1890. 

I stopped this letter to look at a consultation across 
the street about a gnarled and crooked old tree. It 
gives a pleasant shade in summer, and the birds build 
in its branches, but its picturesque attitude will not 
save it. I heard its doom pronounced, and now the 
sound of the axe at its roots fills me with sadness. These 
people have their house painted offensively, and they 
themselves are a torment to my spirit. When the old 
man of the sea is not playing the violoncello, his wife 
is instructing small boys on the violin; when these occu- 
pations are stilled, the child sets up a dismal yell, which 
resounds through the neighborhood, and when night 
closes in, and we begin to rest in peace, dozens of vio- 
linists march in and begin it all over. Now, there goes 
the old tree! With all its crooked ways of living it had 
a charm of its own, and I think of Mr. Gr., who surely 
gives kindly sympathy to all who seek him, and yet 
trustfulness is no more possible toward him than with 
this half-hearted old tree now lying across the street, 
pitiful to think about, and exposing all that was hidden 
before. The day of judgment is. not postponed to the 
other side of Jordan, but it is none the less dreadful. 

The Lodge, Altoona, June 15th, 1890. 

Considering I know nothing of my Wilmington rela- 
tions, I have concluded to enlighten you all as to my 
whereabouts. Sally Wierman and I are comfortably 
keeping house out at this most romantic of lodges, in 
the heart of the woods. I am awakened in the morn- 



320 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

ing with the singing of birds, and go to bed at night 
with the humming of insects and the familiar voice of 
the tree-frogs. Now, this is in such direct contrast 
with life in Hamilton street, that nobody knows how 
much I enjoy it. Of late home has lost a good deal of 
its charm in the noise, confusion, dust and dirt of the 
improvement company back of us. The poor, over- 
loaded horses and mules, and the shouts and whips of 
the drivers, were forever straining me up into a fever 
of indignation; so when the summons came here I was 
like old Mother Hubbard, who " did not run, nor skip, 
nor jump, but simply went to her cupboard ! " . . . 

LETTEK TO HELEN S. GAKKETT. 

3303 Hamilton Street, July 31st, 1890. 

Dear Helen: The arrival of the stylish young gentle- 
man in Gilpin avenue is hailed with delight in this 
household. I was just about to answer thy letter last 
evening, when " Aunt Saide " and Alice came in to 
look after me. We had nothing for supper, which I 
did not mind a mite for them, but when Mr. Smith 
brought home with him a gentleman from Pittsburg, 
the thought of a meager dish of hash was rather appall- 
ing. 

In straightening out these complications and en- 
during the heat of the evening I let slip the opportunity 
of congratulations to all the dear people who hold Anne 
in their hearts. I always breathe more freely when 
such experiences are over, for thy mother may tell thee, 
I have a long-seated horror of this heathenish and un- 
just way of coming into the world. It is the one thing 
that weakens my faith in the justice and mercy of Di- 
vine Providence. When such things are evened up the 
Wilmington people will not be so proud of their census! 
I am always delighted when the children are once here, 



1890, 1891. 321 

but protest against the method! Do give my love to 
Harry and Anne, and say that in my mind's eyes " Sid- 
ney George " is after the pattern of "Young Lochinvar," 
or some other hero of romance ; and let them bring him 
up accordingly. If Anne is as nice a mother as Chel- 
lie, it will be a lovely household. A home is never 
quite complete until the baby comes, and now I think 
of them all with unmitigated satisfaction. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, August 5th, 1890. 

Well, Fin! If thee had sent me a diamond neck- 
lace it would not have had such value to me as thy little 
guard for my glasses. I have wanted it more than I can 
tell. It is a queer thing that Wilmington can always 
produce what one wants, while Philadelphia is too big 
to understand it even. I have gone from place to 
place, and waited weary minutes while the obtuse clerks 
carried my little rag of a remnant around to match 
it. . . . Now, it was very good of thee to send it, and it 
suits my necessities exactly, so please tell me what I owe 
for it, and let me pay up my dues. 

Thy wail about money matters meets a quick re- 
sponse in my bosom. None the less thee always has a 
real something to show for thy. expenditure, while mine 
seems frittered away, I know not how. I neither get 
curtains, nor have my house painted, nor wear out my 
clothes very fast; but somehow I am always getting be- 
hindhand. No need to tell Helen this, for she is quite 
prepared to believe that my money will last as long as 
I do. Let us hope so, and that " age and want, that 
ill-matched pair," may not be mine. 

When I was out at Millbourne on Sunday I could 
not help but enjoy John's turn of mind in constant im- 
provements. I told him he was his Mother's own son, 
thinking of so many conveniences; but, unlike her, he 
has the opportunity of gratifying this craving for keep- 



322 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ing everything up to its best. I think thee and I are 
also Mother's lineal descendants in this, but I cannot be 
happy with things at sixes and sevens. 

This morning I had a shock which is full of sugges- 
tion. About half the kitchen ceiling fell down with a 
tremendous crash, and clouds of dust and dirt. For- 
tunately, neither Katie nor I was there, but half a 
minute before we had been; and if we had stayed that 
half-minute, then who would have written this let- 
ter? . . . 

Summer time is only a season of endurance to me; 
there is no real enjoyment. The very effort to get it is 
demoralizing, and eve^body seems so unsettled and ob- 
jectless. 

How nice it is that Anne knows just what to do, 
and no temptations are possible! If " Young Lochin- 
var " is homely with such a name, I am disgusted; but 
as to thy raking up remarks that I never made to point 
thy conclusions, I decidedly object. If they have half 
as nice children as Eli and thee had, I will never think 
of their looks, and shall no doubt finally find beauty, 
as I did with them. . . . 

Even with the disabilities of dirt, confusion, noise, 
and aggravation, I have enjoyed home for its own sake. 
Each week there is some change, for T. C. S. goes out on 
the boat on Saturday and Sunday, and now that it is 
down at Beach Haven, it will be a regular thing to take 
every holiday there. Tom has done his best to persuade 
me to go with them, but so far I have steadily declined. 
I do not care for Beach Haven at all, and would prefer 
that D. M. be not compelled to take an old lady out, 
when perhaps he may inwardly hate it. Besides, going 
to Gloucester, and possibly stopping a few days after- 
ward at Shelbourne Falls, fills up the entire time for 
me. 

It is well our minds adjust themselves to the inevi- 



1890, 1891. 323 

table, else I might feel miserable enough about our 
darkened dining-room, etc.; but I have made up my 
mind to let things get a good deal worse before I fol- 
low P/s and B/s lead. They are perhaps forced into 
this unsettlement, but I could never stand it. Bohem- 
ian life has somewhat spoiled them for responsible cares, 
but one cannot judge for them. It seems an ideal 
home, and worth struggling to keep; but I think I am 
more inclined to stay in a rut than climb out of it. 
Courage is not a part of my make-up, and I am always 
afraid to try new things. Thy buccaneering spirit is 
my admiration, but I cannot follow its leadings any 
more than I can appreciate the backing and filling of the 
P. family. It is well we are all made up on different 
patterns, since we have such different places to fill. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 6th, 1890. 

Alice Pearson (who is here) suggests that thee 
should be instructed about shingles. It is not in any 
way a childish complaint, nor is it short as well as 
sharp. I believe it is slow to cure, and hard to bear; 
and is a sure sign that people are about played out. I 
am better to-day, but lie on the sofa and groan at odd 
times, which is very enlivening for the family. 

Alice came here to call on her way to Eidley Park 
on Saturday morning, and finding me in bed, stayed to 
boss things generally. Dr. Howell says I am run down; 
and that is always so provoking when you know it in 
your heart and feel it in your bones, and, like " Henny- 
Penny," are convinced that the sky is falling. I am 
filling myself with drugs which I despise, and being 
painted with poison, and feel rather heroic in going 
through these severe measures; but Alice assures me 
that " shingles is very serious," and Dr. Howell says, 
" Thee cannot be too careful "; so here I am, being as 
careful as I can. 



324 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

I did not give up my trip to Wilmington until I 
was forced to do so, and thee could not have been more 
disappointed than I. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 8th, 1890. 

Enclosed, dear Fin, please find Brother William's 
letter, for which many thanks. I am glad he wants to 
come home. It always seems a healthy sign to me, 
when away and surrounded by pleasures, to hear the 
home-bells ringing; and " turn again, Whittington," 
ought never to be disobeyed. According to Captain 
Cuttle, " when you are old you will never depart from 
it "; and every member of the Sellers family will say 
Amen to that. 

Just what William has got in this trip to Germany, 
etc., I do not see; but if it brings good luck I am glad 
it should come where it is deserved. I am just now tak- 
ing a full dose of tad luck in this attack of shingles. 
Nothing ever made me so cross. 

Alice went away this morning, convinced I had " not 
a drop of Christian Science," and I think she is right. 
My condition of suppressed rage is only to be com- 
pared to Susan Nipper's when Florence wanted certain 
books: " If it was to fling at Mrs. Pipchin's head, I'd 
buy a cart load." I have also reminded myself of John 
Flemming in " Marjorie Daw," with his pile of " books 
to shy at Watkins." Nobody is safe with me now! 

To-morrow a lot of women will be here on hospital 
business, and how I am to hold myself together decently 
I do not know. . . . 

Never get shingles! In the first place, it seems a 
low-down kind of disease, and then it is so slow, and 
so very hard on the temper, and so absolutely useless. 
Nothing elevating in this kind of discipline. Avoid it, 
fly from it, and have patience with M. S. 



1890, 1891. 325 

December 2d, 1890. 

Oh, yes, Fin, I will be there, " in jocund or in pen- 
sive mood." The auxiliary is just what I am longing 
for that morning, and the above * is an entertainment 
for the evening, to which Mr. Smith has invited me. 
Now I have conceived the idea of getting thee and Sis- 
ter Mary to go, too. I asked her about it this evening, 
and she was almost persuaded. It would do her good, 
and break up this terrible strain. Now, how would 
thee like it, for she will never go unless thee goes, too. 
Of course, tickets must be gotten the day before if we 
go, and I want thee to telegraph Mr. Smith to-morrow, 
signifying thy willingness for him to get tickets, or the 
reverse. . . . 

I am so entirely out of society that this kind is the 
only outside entertainment I enjoy. We take music 
when it comes, and theaters now and then; and thus are 
saved from stagnation. Everybody seems to be in the 
full tide of enjoyment in teas and receptions, etc., but 
the lonesome, miserable feeling I have at such places 
makes me realize that my day is over. How much more 
at home I feel in a sick-room, or in the absolute solitude 
of doing whatsoever my hand finds to do each day. Just 
now I am called to Mrs. Tyson's, who died last night, 
and it seems to me I go over my own experience in my 
sympathy with Edith. She was her mother's faithful 
and loving attendant; and now her hands will feel so 
empty. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 19th, 1891. 

Just after I mailed my note this afternoon, dear Fin, 
a most inviting-looking express wagon drove up to the 
door, bringing my Christmas picture. It was a double 
surprise to me; first, its existence, which I had forgot- 

* " The Rivals," by the Jefferson and Florence Company. 



326 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ten, and then its transformation in its beautiful frame. 
It is a sweet picture of itself, but I found myself siding 
with Katie, who thinks " it is the splendidest frame 
we have in the house." Great was her disappointment 
when it was hung in the library instead of the parlor; 
but one room is as good as the other to me, and we 
could not find a good place for it in the parlor. Thee 
must come see it, as it hangs over the lounge, where it 
lights up the dark corner. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 10th, 1891. 

It is very nice to find myself thought about in your 
pleasant circle, my dear Fin. Such a forlornity as I 
am! Never get the grippe if thee wants to have any 
respect for thyself! My pluck is all gone, and the 
doctor says that is always a sure sign of this hateful 
grippe. I came downstairs a while to-day, but found 
it much easier to be sick in bed than out of it, so went 
back again. Now, this evening I am putting my best 
foot foremost for Mr. Smith. He read me an article 
yesterday from the Housekeeper's Weekly, to the effect 
that " it comforts me to know that Sally would alius lie 
down every afternoon and sleep a bit/' urging me to be 
like Sally, and so comfort him. Well, he must have his 
wish now, for I am on my back most of the time. My 
plans are all knocked into pi. . . . 

Only think of missing Professor Moulton yesterday! 
He spoke on Southey's " Curse of Kehama," and Helen 
Marot called to tell me about it. She says it was the 
most beautiful discourse she ever listened to, so I want 
you to hear that at Wilmington. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 19th, 1891. 

As I am a hopeless "mis/' I do not think there is any 
use planning about Wilmington. This afternoon Carrie 
is going to take me out to Darby to stay a few days, just 



1890, 1891. 327 

for change, which thee knows is my panacea. I never 
get well staying in the house, and have no strength or 
energy to get out. Let everybody be thankful for 
health! 

For fear I do not get the matter of the sampler at- 
tended to, I am going to send all three to thee. Choose 
for Helen, and have it framed in time for her birthday. 
I think it is no wonder most of Mother's daughters are 
sewers; only think of a little girl of nine years old doing 
these! Well, she was a wonder in every way to me, but 
I am very proud of my sisters, too. It is not the fash- 
ion for young girls to know much about sewing, as Sis- 
ter M. has found, poor thing, as chairman of the Ward- 
robe Committee! The result is she does all the work 
herself. 

I had a feeling thee would come up to see me this 
week, but oh, no; there's nothing will bring thee but my 
funeral. . . . 

Darby, Sunday afternoon, March 29th, 1891. 

This afternoon I opened my purse to show Alice thy 
" Easter " gift, dear Fin, but I was so taken aback by 
the amount of the check that I hardly had the face to 
show Alice how much I had robbed thee. Now, thee 
may think my memory is failing, but I very distinctly 
remember thy telling me what thee meant to give me. 
Now to treble it is nothing less than recklessness, and 
I expect to see thee going "over the hills to the poor- 
house " while I am jauntily riding in my coach and 
four. Sister Mary privately informed me that " Fanny 
said she thought thee would be well and strong if thee 
had no cares about money." Well, the ravens them- 
selves could not be better off than I am. Nothing to 
do but lie here and wait for the money to come rolling 
in! I shall no doubt be so well that cares will not ever 
grow into anxieties and fears, which alone deplete the 



328 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

system. I must begin to believe, with Helen, that I 
will die at the right time! . . . 

Your visit was so unexpected and so nice that I have 
lived in it ever since, and hope you enjoyed it half as 
much. You could not persuade me, however, that I 
look decent with my shreds of hair; but that is simply 
because you spoke from the consciousness of well-cov- 
ered heads! The only thing for me is to accept the 
stern reality of age, written so plainly, which hereto- 
fore I have attempted to disguise. No use now! I am 
like the boy whose father told him to keep his mouth 
shut or people would find he was a fool. He obeyed 
his father, but they found it out all the same. . . . 

The Dennis, April 7th, 1891. 

My poor, dear little Fin, when thee knows T. C. S. 
as well as I do, thee will find he expects everything to 
give way to M. S., and imagines necessities for her 
which do not exist. Now the solemn truth is, I do not 
need anybody; although I will freely confess it is rather 
forlorn in the way of companionship. If it were not for 
Mary Cooper and Fanny Hallowell I should be stranded 
completely, and of course I only see them now and 
then. Everybody has his own affairs here, just as at 
home; and I can only take what is left from these. If 
I were strong enough to walk there would be no end of 
engagements ; but " my back is so bad and my legs are 
so queer " that I really can do nothing of that kind, and 
so spend most of my time in my own room. I watch 
the arrivals with the greatest interest, but so far no- 
body turns up for me. As I seem to get stronger I 
think my time will be well spent, though it seems as 
if nothing could be more wasted now. I have not even 
any interesting work, and am reduced to making some 
wash-cloths, which I do not need in the least. I think 
of so many things at home to do, each one full of in- 



1890, 1891. 329 

terest, that it is hard to content myself in this lazy 
fashion, waiting to get well. It will be a long wait, I 
fear; but I shall go home at the end of two weeks, and 
that will not be long in passing. There seems to be 
nobody interesting here, or else I have lost the quick 
impulse to know them. I made one horrid mistake 
to-day which makes me quite miserable to think about. 
A certain Mr. and Mrs. S., from Germantown, whom 
I met about ten years ago at Kane, are here. I was then 
fascinated with their children, little girls nearly like 
Frances and Dorothy. They were as well trained, too, 
and from that I knew the mother was nice, and had a 
slight but very pleasant acquaintance with her then. 
Well, to-day I happened to meet her in the hall, and I 
asked her if it was not Mrs. S. She was very gracious 
and sweet, but when I asked for her little daughters, 
whom I remembered so well, she said: " You know we 
have just lost Bessie, our oldest. She was so strong and 
healthy we never thought of harm to her, but she died 
of the grippe with only two days' sickness. We came 
down here just to get away from it all, but we do noth- 
ing but talk of her. She was nearly eighteen, and so 
lovely; let me see, this is Tuesday; well, this day three 
weeks she was at school, and in less than a week she 
was gone \" Oh, how sorry I was that I had made it 
necessary for her to tear open this wound! and I am 
glad they went home this afternoon so they wouldn't see 
me again. 

There is a sick woman here to whom I have ex- 
tended my interest, sympathy, and a little licorice-pow- 
der, all of which seem greatly appreciated; but she is 
not in the least attractive excepting through her needs. 

I made another mistake yesterday, too, which shows 
I have lost my head. I am always forgetting people 
whom I ought to know; and a young girl here I fixed 
upon in my mind as one of my neighbors in Hamilton 



330 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

street. Not at all! she had never seen me before nor I 
her, but we got up a little speak on this; and so my 
acquaintance shall be limited now to my own kith and 
kin, whose circumstances as well as faces are perfectly 
familiar. 

This evening a thundering knock at my door just 
about train time made my heart stand still, thinking, 
Now at last somebody has come! 

But no! an immense box, as light as a feather, via 
express. When opened it proved to be full of the most 
exquisite flowers, simply perfect. These were sent 
from Dick Muckle; and instead of writing to thee, and 
using up my eyes and my back, I ought to be inditing 
a polite acknowledgment to him. . . . Having no vases, 
I have arranged the long stems in the water-jar, and 
all the maiden-hair ferns and the exquisite roses are 
crammed into the toothbrush mug, but to-morrow 
morning I will do better justice to them. I am wearing 
an exquisite corsage bouquet of pinks, which are too 
sweet for anything, and the wash-basin is thrust partly 
under the bed full of all manner of sweetness. My one 
cry is for a little more appropriateness in the receiver. 
Nothing could be more incongruous. Well, I cannot 
help it; but one thing I can help, and that is to have 
thee beguiled from thy duty by Tom's anxieties. He 
will no doubt look after me himself, but he "always 
wants me to have something better," as he says. Now 
just stay where thee is, and do not let anybody come 
just for me. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 21st, 1891. 

All day, dear Fin, I have been wandering around 
the house, looking out of each window and gazing into 
the street, trying to see somebody coming to see me! 
The day Sary was here everybody came, fourteen in all. 
After that, not a shadow has crossed, my threshold. 



1890, 1891. 331 

Thee asks me how home goes with me, and I can only 
say, Thankfully!! Every minute I am glad of my home, 
and try to possess my soul in patience waiting for 
strength to do the duty that lies nearest. My clothes 
weigh heavily on both mind and body, and Katie is 
always appealing to me about putting away the woolens, 
etc. Still, I turn a deaf ear to all these calls, and no- 
body could be lazier than I am now. This is simply 
because I must be, as my back will not do its duty in 
holding me up. This is my only complaint, however; 
and so, even without Christian Science, I dare not let 
my thoughts dwell upon it. My main trouble just now 
is Sister Mary; she has been, and I think still is, very 
poorly. Each time I see her I fairly fight her, because 
she will not take sickness luxuriously. This is an art 
she has never learned, and it was quite pathetic yes- 
terday to have her say: " My girls are not used to my 
being sick, and never think of getting things for me as 
Katie does." I am glad she has had no necessity to 
teach them, but she needs care now which she does not 
get, and which I am too helpless to give her. . . . 

It makes me have an extra Ipnk in my back think- 
ing of all thee is doing and has to do, but I take no 
stock in fairs. It always makes me think of poor 
Marty's " pay-party," when, " after all her hard work, 
and taking off what she had to pay for things broken, 
etc., she thought she had made as much as a dollar and 
a quarter, clear!" No doubt you make money for the 
Hospital, but I am quite sure you give much more than 
you intend, and the Lord only gives you " credit for the 
penny you meant to gie." 

In the midst of my letter my lounge, which I missed 
when I came back, came home. Tom said he was hav- 
ing the springs fixed, which I had complained of as too 
stiff. Here it is with a new corduroy cover on, and the 
springs soft and easy. Well, Fin, I am really at a loss 



332 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

sometimes to imagine what makes Tom so lovely and 
loving to me. He must think of an ideal being, for I 
can never fill up the measure of his conception, and I 
certainly am not worthy this unselfish devotion. I am 
not disposed to quarrel with my blessings, however, and 
considering I am a "lone and lorn creature," I have 
somehow been cared for even beyond many whose 
claims are more legitimate. . . . 

The Lodge, Altoona, June 12th, 1891. 

This is the third attempt I have made to write to 
thee, dear Fin, since my nice visit with you all. I am 
always stopped by my lame arm, which is the victim of 
rheumatism, but I cannot subject myself to that idea, 
or thee will think I am not a true believer in Christian 
Science. 

This perfect place has its drawbacks to the infirm. 
We are in the midst of a woods where the trees are 
dripping with moisture much of the time, and the fine 
effect of damp clothing thee may imagine. When it is 
clear (which so far is the exception), we sit out on the 
broad porch, and seem to be like the birds of the air, 
living in the branches of the trees. My knitting for 
Sary, which I saved up for this occasion, has had to be 
laid aside on account of said arm, and I am absolutely 
thrown on my own resources for entertainment. Sally 
is the best of company when she is with me, but my 
habits of industry are quite nipped in the bud, which 
I know thee will regret. This morning the air is full 
of moisture, and I wish it could be transferred to the 
region of Philadelphia, where it has been so much 
needed. Here we have all we want. . . . 

If this place were near Philadelphia it would 
command a fabulous price, for it is all one could 
want for country recreation and retirement, but the 
mountain air, which is a great part of the charm, could 



1890, 1891. 333 

not be transferred. No heat to complain of yet, and I 
wonder if you can say that? My mind has reverted to 
my lovely little visit with yon mnch oftener than thee 
may imagine. I never go to your home without won- 
dering why I do not go oftener, but then on the other 
hand I never return to my own home without wonder- 
ing how I could ever go away! As the various changes 
press around me, however, I feel that my home is getting 
less and less bearable in summer, and Mrs. Eeese in- 
formed me the night before I left, that it was finally 
arranged to build this season. It seems to me a little 
like the man in the iron cage, as one window after an- 
other is closed. . . . 

John wrote me a nice little note enclosing one of 
President Harrison's speeches. He has a lurking sus- 
picion that I am in bad company politically at home, 
and he has followed up his advantage in getting me 
away from the bad influence of T. C. Smith. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, August 16th, 1891. 

. . .We all have our different missions, and mine 
seemed to point to a quick recognition of returning 
health to B. It may have been wise or unwise, I cannot 
tell, but on the impulse of the moment I wrote, remem- 
bering my favorite Persian proverb: " Swift kindnesses 
are best; a long delay in kindness takes the kindness 
all away." My whole heart goes out to those who are 
ailing and who labor under unseen disabilities. Nobody 
knows better than myself how a life is only a half life 
without health. The few months of full enjoyment I 
had after my illness gave me a taste of what life might 
be, but now I know what it is. Complaining people are 
my abhorrence; but it is often in a sort of explanation 
why they are not nicer that they express themselves. 
If thee only knew how nice / am (for example) down 
underneath my backache and general discouragements, 



334 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

thee would be always begging me to be with you!! As 
it is I want to go, and I do not want to go at all. 

I was to have spent this day at Millbourne; but when 
Friday came and the opportunity offered I turned to 
bed as the greater delight. Eest is all I need, the Doc- 
tor says; but rest prolonged from week to week without 
mending my aching back is discouraging. Now thee 
can see for thyself that visiting, when a little agree- 
ability is naturally expected, is more or less of an exer- 
tion; and it resolves itself into the conviction that home 
is the only place where true relaxation is obtained; so 
here I am. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, August 28th, 1891. 

Oh, Fin, if thee only knew how near I came to being 
with you to-night! But the story is this: Katie and I 
are out. She resented my inquiring, or looking, after 
the quantity of milk; and in her usual threatening, un- 
pleasant manner, said she would leave. Much to her 
surprise and dismay I took her at her word; and she is 
now engaged in putting up her things ready to be on 
the march this afternoon. I can do nothing, for al- 
though I know it was only a sudden passion, yet " disci- 
pline must be maintained " with her, of all people. . . . 

Poor girl, I pity her, and I have tried to show her 
the reasonableness of my being able to look after things 
in my own house; but she has gotten twisted, and no 
earthly power can set her right — but " a ticket of 
leave." Her sister is outraged at her, and little Annie 
is in tears to think she must go, and the kittens are yel- 
ling around, while poor me, — I am simply weakened 
out. 

I have written to Alice to ask if she will take care 
of Tote, and Sister M. offers to take care of me, as I 
am not worth picking out of the gutter. Instinctively 
my heart turned to thee, but nobody thought I was fit 



1890, 1891. 335 

for the journey, and so I have accepted John's invita- 
tion to spend Sunday there. 

In the meantime Tom has engaged table-hoard for 
both of us at Thirty-fourth and Spring Garden for a 
week; at the end of which time (if I am able for it) I 
am to go to Shelburne Falls. The very thought of 
packing a trunk now, or even a satchel, fills me with 
dismay; but still I will soon stop this weak, trembling 
inside, which is simply ridiculous. The moment the 
wheels of domestic machinery are clogged for me, I 
realize how unfit I am for any dependence on myself. 
Still, Fin, my name is MacGregor, and I defy defeat so 
long as I have Tom to hold me up. Never was there 
anybody so unvarying in sympathy for me, and his ab- 
solute belief in me helps me to believe in myself. Sis- 
ter Mary, poor dear, wanted to give up her trip with 
Anna, and stay home and keep open house for me. Did 
thee ever hear of anything so simple as that? And 
thee, talking of giving up thy room! Truly, I think 
there is insanity in the family. . . . 

I am feeding myself on asafetida to get my nerves 
calmed down, and I realize that I have been ill or I 
could not let so little a thing upset me so. I have turned 
my mind away from it all (or tried to), by reading 
Fiske's " Kevolution." It is simply delightful, and reads 
like a novel, — much more interesting than " The 
Minister's Wooing." I have also a book of Lawrence 
Oliphant's, and he must have been a charming man, — 
so ready and bright and sympathetic, with a genius that 
was all unconscious. How could he and his lovely wife 
ever give up to the influence of that theorist, Harris? 

Oh, Fin, there is a very faint line between sanity 
and insanity, and the point is to know on which side 
we stand. 

I have some writing to do for the Hospital, and 
must stop writing to thee. Some of the headstrong 



336 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

managers, in the absence of the solider part, have inter- 
fered with the domestic machinery at the Hospital, dis- 
missing the cook in spite of the protest of the resident 
physician! I have just been writing my views for their 
benefit, and I can assure thee my " trumpet hath no un- 
certain sound!" The idea of employing this resident 
physician to run the house, which everyone acknowl- 
edged was admirably done, and then, because they had 
a little less revenue, making a mess like this! Katie is 
nothing to it. I will write soon again, and give thee a 
later bulletin from the seat of war. 

3303 Hamilton Street, September 2d, 1891. 

Ever since thy note came, dear Fin, I have meant 
to write to thee, but I have been too " misable " to get 
my thoughts to work. Now I am getting better, I hope, 
and think going out to Millbourne again last night 
helped me. On Sunday I was a disgrace, but yesterday 
came off with flying colors in comparison. To-morrow 
I am going out to Darby to see Tote, who is still exiled 
from home. Thee cannot imagine how I miss her. No 
news from the seat of war, but Katie has given her 
family to understand that I wanted to get rid of her, 
etc., etc., and she feels me as much of an ingrate as I 
do her, no doubt. I am to see a girl out at Darby to- 
morrow, and can only ask her to wait if I feel like en- 
gaging her, as I certainly cannot take her in the house 
just as I am going out of it. 

My plans are laid now to go to Shelburne Falls on 
Saturday, shut up the house in its dirty condition, and 
take up the burdens when I am built up enough to bear 
them. The dreadful discouragement I have had was 
not entirely incident to the present complications, but 
for the first time in my life I realized that I was quite 
unable to keep house unless reliable help was assured. 
The very thought of giving up my home was heart- 



1890, 1891. 337 

breaking. I fly from it now simply to change the men- 
tal atmosphere, for I believe I will not get well here. 
The inward tremblings continue, and I must brace my- 
self somehow. My stay in Shelbnrne Falls will depend 
somewhat on my escort home. Tom will be in Montreal 
a week, and I may return with him; but I will let thee 
know my plans. The heat is coming again in full force, 
but, thank Heaven, it cannot last long. Love to all thy 
dear children. This is written against time, while Tom 
waits. Many thanks for thy support of T. C. S. 

I think my sickness has put him in a different light 
to everybody, and yet he is always the same from the 
beginning. 



3303 Hamilton Street, September 20th, 1891. 

This is to say to all you dear people at Wilmington 
that I am here at home again; and I hope you will un- 
derstand the responsibility this fact involves for you. 
. . . The unfamiliar element in the kitchen is a con- 
tinual weight on me, and I am simply forced to " stand 
by " the stuff now. ... 

This girl feels everything " so cramped." She has 
been used to living on a farm of one hundred acres, 
where her child ran wild; and the poor little thing has 
nothing to do now but hang on the front gate, which 
is not my express wish! I suppose thee would make a 
good girl of her, but she is so lacking in all the ele- 
ments of refined living, that it is hard for me to see the 
real merit possessed. Yesterday, in the course of an 
amicable conversation, she remarked, " You know you 
are set in your ways, very set in your ways "; to which 
I calmly replied, " Yes, I think I am; and so you must 
not be set in yours": which rejoinder was not appro- 
priated or appreciated by her, I think. However, I will 
not fill my letter with her, or dwell upon the many dis- 



338 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

abilities of the mistress, but try to turn my mind out of 
this prosaic channel. 

My visit to Shelburne Falls was delightful from first 
to last, and if I had the knowledge and strength of Mrs. 
Bardwell, I would not be dismayed by any incompe- 
tence. They live very pleasantly in a perfect place, the 
air like new wine from the mountains, and the water 
clear as crystal. All the responsibilities of visiting 
were removed from me, and I simply settled into the 
niche which seemed waiting for me. There is nothing 
like visiting real people; nothing artificial, and every- 
thing wholesome and honest and earnest. I felt very 
welcome to stay indefinitely, but stern duty called me 
home before I was ready, and the hot weather was here 
in full force to meet me. . . . 

Tom is busy fixing up his batteries, and beguiling 
me from my slough of despond by his racy anecdotes 
of Canadian life. He spent a week there as a delegate 
to the National Electric Light Association, and has been 
mingling with " lords and ladies of high degree." He 
tells of the banquet given for the six hundred, in such 
style as only English servants can do justice to. An 
empty chair represented the Queen, and the toasts and 
speeches were very bright and enjoyable. He said the 
sound of the peculiar English voice and expressions 
gave him a' thrill for home and the Old Country! He 
was chosen one of ten to be invited to Sir Donald 
Smith's beautiful home, where they were royally enter- 
tained, the wise old butler behind his master's chair 
never moving from his place and directing the other 
servants by a motion of his hand below the table. The 
picture gallery in this house had original Eembrandts 
and Turners and Messoniers, etc., etc., representing 
fabulous sums of money, and the Japanese room, thirty 
feet square, where all the finest specimens of art were 
placed, had an insurance on it alone of $175,000, so 



1890, 1891. 339 

thee may judge of its intrinsic merits. After all this 
grandeur, and continual use of his dress-suit (discarded 
at home), I was afraid Tom would never be able to come 
down to the narrow limits and prosaic details of 3303, 
but he is very adaptive, and his only effort seems to be 
to keep me in a good humor with everything; in which 
I am sorry to say he fails. . . . 

I long to know something about you. Helen's an- 
nouncement of the little daughter next door followed 
me to Shelburne Falls, and while they were rejoicing 
over Bella's baby, I told them we had them in our 
family, more than we could count. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 28th, 1891. 

Well, Fin, there never was a more satisfactory girl 
than thy own dear self. I delight to deal with thee, 
knowing I will always get the bottom truth. Still, it 
was rather amusing to see my confident preparations 
for a visit, and the collapse when I had thy letter this 
afternoon. Just as I stopped the car it was handed 
me, and I found infinite amusement in its contents as 
I rode along. All the passengers were evidently inter- 
ested, as my varying emotions were painted on my face. 
All I could think of was, " Who'll come to play with me 
under the trees, my sisters have left me alone!" After 
I sent my postal the other day (on a sudden impulse) it 
suddenly dawned upon me that I had nothing to wear 
decent enough for my stylish relations. I looked with 
dismay at my summer bonnet in these bitter winds, and 
my attention was called to the rags around the bottom 
of the skirt of my best dress. . . . 

Then this morning I rushed into town and repre- 
sented myself as on the eve of a visit, and my bonnet 
was promised this afternoon. It was on my way in to 
get it that thy letter reached me. My little trunk was 
in requisition, but when I went to pack it I found my- 



340 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

self like the Irishman who wanted to know if he was 
to go naked. There really seemed nothing to put in 
it; but not to be delayed a moment when the summons 
came, I had it all ready with shawls and wrappers and 
shoes and work as if I were going to stay for 
months. . . . 

Now, however, I am satisfied to wait developments, 
for dressmaking is of all things to be avoided. My visit 
would have been a complete failure at either place, and 
I am thankful thee stopped it. . . . 

I went yesterday morning down to the Pennsylvania 
Kailroad office on Fourth street, to see if they would ex- 
tend my ticket, which had nearly three hundred miles 
yet to be used when I was taken ill last winter. Does 
thee know, they had the hardihood to decline abso- 
lutely, and were so cool about it that I think their 
profit comes in this way. Disappointment comes to 
them when people can use up the whole ticket, and they 
gloat over anything that prevents it. 

My expedition yesterday began by going through 
the new Drexel Institute with Tom. It is really beau- 
tiful, and I had great enjoyment in the thought of all 
the money in it given with a free hand for so wide a 
mission. Generosity is not always the result of wealth, 
but when they go hand in hand it is beautiful and re- 
freshing. 

While I was down town after that I went to Tom's 
office, which I had never seen before, and he and Dick 
and Belle Austin took me up on the roof, where I looked 
all over Philadelphia. It was a beautiful sight. " The 
Gladstone " at Eleventh and Pine made a fine show; 
and Sue was here the other day and told me it was the 
ideal way of living. Sister Mary says she " would not 
like apartments, for there is no place to shake any- 
thing/' What she expects to shake nobody knows, but 



1890, 1891. 341 

I have an idea that old-fashioned people would never 
like these new-fashioned ways of making a home. 

I met Alice in the street this afternoon, looking as 
pretty as a picture. She asked me when I was coming 
to Wilmington, and she laughed a good deal over the 
tale I had to tell. . . . 



3303 Hamilton Street, October 29th, 1891. 

It proves thee was all right, Fin, to stop my visit, 
for my cold is so terribly stuffy I could not enjoy my 
best friends now. Tom was highly amused to find me 
home after a solemn good-bye in the morning, but my 
faith is pinned to truthful Fin, and there is no need to 
make promises about a future visit. I shall want to go 
quite as much as any of you dear people can want me, 
and I must at once return my thanks to all thy daugh- 
ters, who did not wish me to be trifled with. That 
amused me highly, and I am glad they find me so un- 
compromising. They were well taught in their youth, 
and have a certain respect for their " stern old Aunt." 

I have had a funny da} r , waiting to do the agreeable 
to Mrs. and Miss Coleman. John had offered to send 
them out driving, and fortunately I was included. 
They called while I was in town yesterday afternoon, 
and so we had no way of laying our plans. John went 
to the Stratford to see them this morning before they 
were up. I have taken my " posish " of expectation the 
live-long day, and found it impossible to accomplish 
anything. Ennis had the horse in the surrey, and waited 
to be called. Finally I went down to the stable and had 
a ride back again. Then John came, and waited a while, 
and nobody came; so the moral of that is: Put not your 
faith in Calif ornians ! Now to-morrow, when I want to 
go out, they will come poking in, I expect; and that is 
the way things get mixed with some people. Not with 



342 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

us, Fin, for we know what we want, and what we d« 
not want, unmistakably! . . . 

Tom is reading aloud to me every evening, and we 
have just finished Fiske's " American Kevolution," and 
are now deep in a hook which George Pennock, Jr., sent 
for me to read. It is Chittenden's " Eecollections of 
President Lincoln." It is as interesting as a novel; in- 
deed much more so to me. My last hook for private 
reading was "Lawrence Oliphant," which thee must 
read, and see what thee thinks of "living the life" 
which is self-effacement and self-sacrifice, and abso- 
lute endeavor to live Christ's life without reserve. It 
leads to more things than you think; and I am re- 
minded of my childish conclusion that I did not want 
to be too good. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 9th, 1891. 

This is to say, dear Fin, that I am safe at home 
again, and have to thank thee and thine for a lovely 
visit. You may not think I enjoyed the draggy condi- 
tion in which I found myself, and that is true enough, 
but I did enjoy and appreciate all the consideration and 
attention which were so lavishly given. The peaceful 
little visit at Anne's in the morning is particularly en- 
grafted into my being, and all those exquisite colors 
which I gazed upon are not likely to fade. 

This morning the dripping leaves and roof would 
mean a steady rain if it were not November, but these 
misty mornings sometimes pass into the most perfect 
noon, and for this I hope. I am resting as usual, and 
will do nothing to mar my brilliancy at the Hospital 
meeting this morning. 

Just as Tom was going out of the door this morn- 
ing John came to invite us to meet Harry Gibbons and 
his wife on Thursday evening. ... If I can get up any 
ability to sit up for a whole evening, I shall go, but not 



1890, 1891. 343 

without; but will certainly call. I think of thee with 
the highest admiration of thy abilities, and with a tired 
feeling too, since I cannot conceive giving two enter- 
tainments in one week without an overwhelming sense 
of fatigue. I wonder if I could do it if I had such a 
reliance in the kitchen? No, I think not; for I have 
that in myself which depreciates all my efforts, and I 
should never think it could be a success. When thee 
thanks God for thy blessings, do not forget the ability 
with which He has lifted thee out of complications, and 
offer a word of thankfulness that thee lives in Wilming- 
ton, where any deficiencies can be supplied from with- 
out, instead of the " City of Homes," where every house- 
hold is expected to be sufficient unto itself. 

Sister Mary has called for me to go to Hospital, so 
with love all around, good-bye. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

1892. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 5th, 1892. 

What is the matter, dear Fin, with John Wana- 
maker, to neglect so very valuable a contribution to the 
mails as my letter next day after Christmas, Sunday? 
Thee should have received it on Tuesday morn- 
ing certain. ... It was a remarkable pro- 
duction, of course, and I feel sorry for thy loss, 
but more sorry for the detriment to my char- 
acter, in this apparent neglect. If ever I should 
have shown my gratitude for a nice visit, it was then; 
and if I remember, I made my bow to the whole party. 
Mr. Smith said he had a lovely time, and I remember 
distinctly telling thee that as we walked up to the cars 
from your house, he said, " Thank God for real people! " 
Now I say that myself about him every day, and that of 
all my friends he has proved best to " tie to." 

Just now we are undergoing a species of chaos. 
Every carpet is off the house, which became a necessity 
when I saw the dust and plaster ground into them. Now, 
if ever you have electric lights put in, take my advice, 
and be beforehand with your carpets. I foolishly waited 
until I was forced into it, and I think the carpet men 
will think they have struck a bonanza here, and I trem- 
ble at the bill. We are wired and rewired, it seems to 
me, in every direction. As they began in the third 
story, we had time to get used to the thought of living 
in the midst of currents, wires above and wires below, 
so if there is any chance of contact, we are doomed. Mr. 
Smith hovers over it all, with devotion to his art. He 



1892. 345 

goes late, and comes home early this week, and we live 
as we can. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 2d, 1892. 

When thy welcome letter came yesterday, dear Fin, 
I was laid on the shelf, and felt it great company, but 
was quite unable to answer it. My strength is exhausted 
with so little, that I am ashamed to say what brought 
me into this low condition; and now that I am clothed 
again and in my right mind, there is no need to allude 
to it except as an excuse for not writing at once. . . . 

Yesterday afternoon I had to meet Miss K. at the 
printers about our old report, and as she is a little dull 
of hearing, and I am a little too brisk of speech, the 
business was really left to me; and when I got home I 
was not worth picking out of the gutter. The first 
thing I saw on coming in was thy letter, and I took it 
up to bed with me, where I afterward entertained Sis, 
who was disgusted to find me there; and then Miss Bard- 
well came and was also indignant; and finally Tom, who 
tore his hair over it, figuratively; but nothing made me 
get up until late this morning. 

Here I was interrupted by a call from Mrs. Coleman 
and Jessie, on their way home. They are both so cor- 
dial and pleasant, and so eager to have me go with them, 
I might almost have been goose enough to accept if I 
did not have a better guide within. It is very foolish to 
ask sick people to visit; one or the other of the parties 
is sure to repent it. . . . 

Some people, dear Fin, I cannot contend with and 

the head the list, but nobody deserves more 

in kindness. Another party that I cannot keep step 
with are the B. P/s; they are just as charming as possi- 
ble, but I cannot waste my tissues in enthusiasm over 
their various plans. 

My letter seems to be made up of complaints of peo- 



346 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

pie; yet I find too much good in every one to condemn 
them. How much easier it would be if we were either 
all good, or all bad, and were all properly labeled. I 
have just received a sermon from Mr. Savage, entitled, 
fk What Ought Eeligion to Do for Us?" I think I had 
better stop writing, and go read it at once. Perhaps I 
will find the secret which will regenerate the world, and 
myself in particular. Sister Mary and Annie B. went to 
hear Phillips Brooks on Sunday, and said it was a treat 
nobody could afford to miss. He says, " There is no cal- 
culating the amount of good of any one life, lived up to 
its best; " so, Fin, let us try and make the experi- 
ment. . . . 

I meant to have called on Kate Febiger on Sunday, 
but am glad I did not, since thee says she was at 
Brandy wine. Her work in dismantling the old home 
there is ghastly enough, and yet how much good might 
be done in it. I am always wishing for that impossible 
middleman to bring people together. The super- 
abundance in one household might make riches for 
another, but unfortunately it always goes to those who 
have enough already. I am glad to lessen my cares by 
giving away when I can, but I am sure we all " lay up 
for ourselves treasures upon earth " through mere sen- 
timent. 

Yesterday when I was making an old dress of Moth- 
er's (riddled with moths) into dust-cloths, I could not 
help thinking how much better it would have been to 
have had it worn out in actual use. Bessie is complain- 
ing of the amount of things they have to store away, and 
Miss R. is longing for even one piece of furniture to put 
into an empty parlor! So the world goes! I would 
like to go around and even things up, though I am no 
disciple of Henry George, or of Tolstoi either. . . . 



1892. 347 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 15th, 1892. 

. . . This morning John called, and I asked him to 
take me out with him the next time he drove into the 
country, as I find the cars not very exhilarating. The 
Doctor is always saying, " You must go out riding every 
day, since you cannot walk "; and he no doubt thinks I 
have carriages and horses at my disposal; so I let him 
think so, and cultivate my carriage acquaintance! John 
thought he might possibly go this afternoon or to- 
morrow, and I am hoping it may be this afternoon, not 
only on account of the lovely day, but because I have 
an engagement to-morrow afternoon. " The Advisory 
Board of Women of the Drexel Institute " have re- 
quested the pleasure of my company, and I do not want- 
them to mourn my absence! I shall go if possible, and 
see what they are up to, and have a chance to look 
through the Institute at my leisure. I hear the library 
is very inviting, as well as the Museum; but I am such a 
poor sight-seer these times that I fear to go for that 
purpose. When the Loan Exhibition was held at the 
Art Club we all went, and I was carried home on a chip. 
However, I saw Sam Bancroft's. exhibit of the Water- 
Willow, or some such name, — a girl with a long, thin 
neck and an incipient development of goitre, — very 
finely painted, no doubt, but not a pleasing subject. 
There were many things I did not want, but some ex- 
quisite things which I would not have declined, had 
they been offered. . . . 

Yesterday I went out riding with George and Lucy, 
and Charles Barnes; and the latter is very pleasant and 
approachable. We were all excited about the Reading's 
great deal, and Cassattfs expostulation; but the feeling 
is growing in Philadelphia against the monopoly of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, and I, for one, will be glad to 
see it brought low enough to consider Philadelphia of 
some little importance, which it does not now. And 



348 'the story of a life. 

then the corrupt Councils rushing an Elevated bill 
through, which is only a farce, and continues the night- 
mare of rapid transit, which only comes before the pub- 
lic to die away again! We rode out to the Park, and 
saw the skaters, and watched them for a long while. 
Lucy said John was trying to skate in the pond around 
the hydrant, which was very touching to me. . . . 

3303 Hamtilton Street, February 19th, 1892. 

Passing by the first two pages of thy letter, Fin, 
(which was sheer nonsense), I enjoyed it as much as if 
it were a novel. Indeed, much more so than the last 
one I have been reading. This is " David Grieve," 
which is very much dragged out, I think, to make a 
book. It is written by the author of " Eobert Elsmere," 
and deals in all kinds of reforms, lugging them in with- 
out rhyme or reason, apparently only to get a chance to 
bring them before the public. I did not need to be in- 
structed in vegetarian diet, but revivals in religion never 
mean anything to me but emotion, which is, after all, 
no guide or compass. If thee reads it thee will trace 
out the laws of heredity in the hateful Louie, who is a 
horrible creation; and David himself does not satisfy me 
with his robustness and his sentiment. Mrs. Abby Sage 
Eichardson spoke my mind exactly yesterday when she 
said, "After all, I must confess the old-fashioned novel 
suited me; no matter how many trials, catastrophes and 
horrible situations, one always knew that in the end it 
would come out all right, and the wedding bells would 
ring down the curtain." She said, " I know the mod- 
ern novel is more realistic, for in this life we continually 
see the bad triumph, and the wise brought to naught; 
but surely we have enough sorrow and more than enough 
complications and anxieties to contend with in our ex- 
perience, to have the comfort of reading books which are 
sure to end right." This was said in the discussion 



1892. 349 

after the reading, which was a very enjoyable part. Wal- 
ter Scott was her theme, but afterwards Dickens was 
compared with him, and people spoke up for and 
against. Many thought Dickens did not know how to 
draw a female character, and my soul was aroused with- 
in me, but my lips were sealed. I am like John Perry- 
bingle, " always just going to say something," and never 
getting it out. I would have asked, What is the matter 
with Aunt Betsy Trotwood, and Peggotty, and Lizzie 
Hexham, and Bella Wilfur, and even Dora? — who was 
womanly enough, but could not be contrasted with 
Agnes. 

Sister Mary went with me, and enjoyed it so much; 
and when thee talks of my being brought up all wrong, 
I think thee had better look at her, and see what a 
shrinking, timid nature was given her to contend with 
all through life. Because thee is a wild buccaneer thee 
need not think thy sisters must follow in thy footsteps, 
for we would have to change our natures from the start. 
I appreciate, however, thy suggestions; and if I had to 
begin all over again I should insist on facts, not fancy, 
and a stern resolution to make such a child take respon- 
sibility, and push her into the whirl of society. With 
this regimen I might have made a more useful and 
agreeable citizen, but this is only surmise. I find we 
have to be ourselves, and no longing to be otherwise in- 
creases our helpfulness. It is rather a comfort to me 
that I do not have to be like thee, or even like Abby 
Sage Eichardson, but just myself; since only in this per- 
sonality can I have any influence. I am very glad thee 
is resolved to hold me in thy thoughts as " sound and 
healthy and perfect," because it can do me no harm, and 
entertains thee all the time. 

I am in the midst of a book now which would capti- 
vate thee, I am sure. It is " Studies in Theosophy," by 
Colville. Dr. Hawley lent it to me, and I have found 



350 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

great interest in it. The " Universal Brotherhood " is 
very attractive, and Dr. Hawley says he thinks " faith is 
a quality of the mind to he cultivated as much as rea- 
son; " so it is perhaps this part of my mind that thee 
finds so unmanageable. It is because of my " Karma " 
that I cannot be healed, I suppose; but who knows but 
this " Karma " has been accumulated in past existences, 
and becomes my hindrance nfrw? I will not believe that 
I have been so bad in this life to bring all my ailments 
upon me. I am quite prepared through this book to 
believe that spirit may change its forms indefinitely. I 
may have been a " heathen Chinee," or a Laplander, or 
even a cat or dog, and this present M. S. is only respon- 
sible for the deeds done in this body. Whether I shall 
work through all the re-embodiments and accumulated 
experiences until at last they bring me to perfection, 
who shall say? I believe we are each and all the mani- 
festation of one Spirit, and must live in some form, in 
some kingdom, — whether animal, vegetable, or mineral, 
what matter? So we know that we are part of the great 
Cause. 

Oh, I consider myself quite a Theosophist, especially 
as I find that below the spirit and above the intellect is 
a nature which is instinctive, and can grasp knowledge 
(or the things of sense) beyond any testimony of one's 
personal convictions. I am prepared to believe a great 
deal more than I can believe, because I am always trying 
to explain things that are unexplainable. Let me pass 
this subject over to thee, and see what thee makes of it. 

Thy arrangement for me next week is very attrac- 
tive, and I would like to go down for a few days if possi- 
ble. ... 

Thursday's engagement is imperative, for I must be 
there to have my heart swell with pride and listen to 
the praises sounded for my relatives. What amazes me 
is the ambitious subjects chosen for you. I am con- 



1892. 351 

fident not one of yon are booked np on folk-lore. Now 
if yon had only asked me — bnt never mind, I will not 
betray my superior knowledge to yonr shame. Particu- 
larly in Italian folk-lore I am quite at home, but if thee 
has not remembered Longfellow's " Folk-Songs " in the 
end of his Poems, fourth volume, I think thee had better 
read up. Thee will find them suggestive ; the " Sifting 
of Peter/' the "Maiden and Weathercock/' "The 
Windmill/' and others. 

Evening. Here my letter was interrupted by the 
arrival of Miss Bardwell, who came to talk over the 
trials and tribulations of the day, but we finally found 
more fun than misery in it. Now she has gone, and I 
must get this mailed to show thee I am not as bad about 
answering letters as somebody else we both know. . . . 

Love to all the children, and children's children. I 
look upon you sometimes with envious eyes, a kind of 
" multum in parvo " — so much variety in so small a 
circle. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 22d, 1892. 

Thy small letter, dear Fin, was full of interest to me, 
and the fact of thy wishing me to write, noted. I have 
taken a sheet of my best paper, used only " for polite 
correspondence," but this is done for my own sake, not 
thine. Now that I am maid-of-all-work, and smell of 
dish-water, I need all the accessories to keep hold of the 
" upper crust," and not feel myself debased by my occu- 
pations. Even Thomas Beecher wrote a homily on these 
prosaic duties; and I never clear up the sink without 
thinking of him, not knowing what to do with the dish 
cloth. It was needed to wipe out the sink, and yet must 
be left clean; so after its duty was done, he simply 
wadded it into one corner and tried to forget it. 

Katie left on the sick list on Tuesday, and Tom and 
I go out at night to our dinner. Ever since she left I 



352 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

have been trying to get the hang of things, and wonder 
how she ever produced results with things in such a 
mess. Cleanliness and conscientious cleanliness are quite 
different things. We work on different principles. She 
covers up, and I open up; and collision is inevitable. I 
stood this state of things until to-day, and now I have 
secured a rusher for the " clearing up." She has 
brought order out of chaos, and I seem to breathe more 
freely. Katie is getting too old for active duties, and 
I am always trying to save her; and she joins with me 
in this laudable object, and the consequence is the work 
is only half done. The time has gone by for me to pitch 
in and defy the hypocritical worker; so I trust nobody 
will look too deeply into my domestic affairs, which have 
filled me with shame this week, and with dismay at my 
future prospects. This girl I have only goes out by the 
day, and is blessed with a sharp tongue and high tem- 
per; but these apparent disadvantages work together for 
good to those who will not fight with her. We are on 
intimate terms at the end of the day, and congeniality 
is apparent, even to her. Thee can hardly conceive thy- 
self descending from the interests of public affairs to 
get into such a low condition as I am forced into. It 
is well for me that there is no " Current Events " to be- 
guile me or Ferris Eeform to inspire, for every energy 
is needed where it is now put forth. I have to retire 
into myself, and wonder when I will get strength to do 
the positive duties by which I am surrounded. Bessie 
has persuaded me into taking massage again, so when I 
am through paying for the doctors, I begin on some- 
thing akin to it. My stomach has gone back on me 
completely, but for two hours at least every day I am 
forced into deshabille, massage, and bed; so I trust some 
good will come of it. . . . 

My Island Heights man has written to say he will 
retain the cottage for me until to-morrow; and I was 



1892. 353 

forced to write, giving it up with a pang. It is not that 
I am wedded to that place, but as spring approaches I 
find myself fretting against my bars, and thinking I 
must get somewhere to see the grass grow. Mr. Smith 
was telling Bessie and me this morning of a workman 
who was especially faithful all through the winter 
months, but his employer told Tom that early in the 
spring he was sure to come into the office and ask for 
his pay, saying: " I must be off on the tramp; I have 
heard the blue-birds sing, and it is time for me to follow 
their call." Nothing could keep him; no wages were 
high enough to tempt him; but like one inspired he 
rushed into the country, and, as he said, " put myself 
where things grow." Who shall say that he had not 
greater riches in the end than if he had gone on in the 
beaten track? Nobody knows how I long for a little 
space out of doors in which to get near nature. . . . 

I find myself at outs with my surroundings. It is 
wonderful how adaptive we grow, however; and I have 
no doubt if I lived long enough I should feed my soul 
on brick walls as easily as upon green fields; certainly, 
if I could get my spirit into sweet accord. 

I am very much in hopes that thy plan of getting 
here, when you go on your inspection trip to German- 
town, may come to pass. I want to urge upon you, in 
decoration, to look at our Art Club rather than the New 
Century Rooms. I want you to surpass us in the rest- 
fulness of the room. Do not paint your walls in rolling 
clouds, nor in long-armed females, but get a solid color, 
and have nothing to interfere with your deep cogita- 
tions. I was not on the Building Committee; but, with- 
out self-praise, I am sure I could have done better. 
When you come to see a room once a week or oftener, 
you do not want too much fancy. And then the furni- 
ture! Please get something substantial, such as the Con- 



354 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

tinental style calls for, and let Mrs. Mchols have a fair 
chance, which she never had here. 

I saw by the Ledger your Ferris School had $2,000, 
which I immediately attributed to the effect of the hon- 
orable ladies who visited the Levy Court. Oh, you are 
a great people in Wilmington! I pass over thy com- 
ments on my manifold and manifest talents, and find in 
it only another proof of thy original and discriminating 
genius. I must turn from thy " flattering tongue," and 
face the stern realities which now surround me. Love 
to everybody — ever and always. 

My voice is coming back from electricity, which, ac- 
cording to some Theosophists, contains the life princi- 
ple! We see its effect, but we cannot see it, neither can 
we grasp life or define it. 

" Life is a mystery as great as ever death could be," 
etc. Electricity is akin to it, my vocal chords respond 
to it, and I trust it will finally restore my voice so that 
I can talk again. 

3303 Hamilton Street, June 6th, 1892. 

Thy letter this morning, dear Fin, seemed like a 
voice from another sphere. I have lost sight of all my 
relations and people generally, and supposed of course 
they would all leave me out, which fortunately thee 
proves not to be the case. This is the summer of my 
discontent! The exodus in the neighborhood has be- 
gun, and the last leaf on the tree is waiting for a favor- 
able wind to blow it away. . . . 

Next Thursday I am to go to the Penn Charter com- 
mencement, on account of Wif Bancroft being valedic- 
torian of his class. Annie has just been here, and tells 
me he has " passed with honor," so they are pleased, of 
course. The heavy responsibility of bringing into the 
world children who do not " pan out " well would be a 
great burden, I should think. I believe (if the truth 



1892. 355 

were known) many parents are disappointed. Unless, 
however, one has the serenity of a Christian Scientist, 
disappointments come, even without children. Mine 
are always through the affections, and each blow falls 
on the same sore spot, which seems never to harden. 
In the New Thought, this would only mean that I am 
not very bright about learning; but new or old, I find 
that " where she erred, she errs." Now this was not in 
my mind to say, but thee will understand how I drifted 
into it, perhaps. 

This letter was begun before I went to the hospital 
this morning, and now the thread is lost, and all my 
minutes are to copy, so thee need not expect any kind 
of reply to thine. 

Tom was much pleased with the favorable opinion of 
the Warners, whom he has repeatedly spoken of since 
our trip to Island Heights. He thinks Mrs. Warner is 
charming, as everybody else does. Our plans may bring 
us into their company again this summer, for I talk of 
going to Island Heights the last week in this month, or 
perhaps the first in July. If I can bring my mind into 
contentment there, I think it will be better than the 
atmosphere here, and I may possibly spend the month 
of July there. . . . 

I simply dread the summer. It has begun all wrong 
for me, " but that is another story," as Kipling says. 
Last evening I read aloud to some young ladies my fav- 
orite story of Mrs. Ewing's, "The Ill-Tempered Family." 
It covers the whole ground of Christian growth and de- 
velopment, for until we have patience with the daily 
disappointments of life, and can bear the " wounds in 
the house of our friends," we may know that we are not 
following very closely in the footsteps of our great Ex- 
ample; nor can we get on in any way without first get- 
ting hold of ourselves. . . . 

This letter seems destined to last forever. Just as I 



356 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

was writing the last word a carriage stopped at the door, 
and 1 flew off to see who it might be. It proved to be 
John on his way out to Millbourne, and I immediately 
accepted his invitation to go too. While there I ate straw- 
berries off the vines, and gathered roses from the bushes, 
and breathed the air laden with honeysuckles; and in 
fact reveled in the luxury of the country without any 
of the qualifying responsibilities. Much as I enjoy 
Millbourne I never could like to live there again, even if 
I were as rich as Croesus. Perhaps I might as well think 
that my present latitude is the best for me, and not try 
to enlarge it by flights of fancy, or imagine myself in 
any wider horizon. 

Thee had better come up and see my new trellis in 
front of the porch. It serves two purposes: one to en- 
large my opportunities for flowers and vines, and the 
other to lessen the neighbors' opportunities for seeing 
into my domain. It has a suggestion of a bird-cage, 
but the design is good, and it has passed safely through 
the criticisms of my own family, who are the most criti- 
cal of anyone I know. The neighbors stop and tell me 
I am making this house a boAver of beauty, and as Sary 
says, " she hath done what she could." 

3303 Hamilton Street, June 12th, 1892. 

It is very awkward, dear Tin, to have a character to 
maintain, and since thee says I am " reliable," I am 
forced to live up to it and answer thy letter, although I 
am half asleep and wholly stupid. This morning I had 
a lovely ride out through the Park to Millbourne with 
John and party, all because they knew I was " always at 
leisure and always ready." . . . 

I am not enthusiastic about going to Island Heights 
simply because I hate to go alone; and I think some of 
my good friends had better follow me. How would thee 
like a little trip there? Probably thy schemes for the 



1892. 357 

summer are more suggestive than this, as I hear rumors 
of Scituate and Colorado for thee and Helen. Please 
keep me informed of your doings, for I never have sum- 
mer come around without recalling that wretched time 
when Father died, and his children were scattered far 
and near. The unrest is in the air at this season, and 
nobody seems to have any anchor. . . . 

Just as I wrote the above, Nate and Mary called, and 
invited me to take a short ride. We went out to Forty- 
ninth Street, which seems so open and airy, and the per- 
fume of honeysuckles and roses and new-mown hay made 
it seem truly country, in spite of the many blocks of 
houses. It is greatly built up there, but every house 
has plenty of ground around it, and the people seem a 
community in themselves. I felt the stirrings of un- 
rest in myself as I came back into the closer quarters 
of Hamilton Street. Let me not get dissatisfied with 
what Providence has provided for me, and for which I 
always feel the truest gratitude! What thee says about 
my needing sympathy is true enough, but I assure thee 
I have learned not to depend on it very much, and have 
gained some strength without it. If my letter had a 
minor key in it, there was nothing which needed ex- 
pression. If thee had been beside me, I probably should 
not have said half as much. . . . 

What thee says about " The Quality of Mercy " I 
fully endorse. It is by far the strongest novel Ho wells 
has written, I think; and deals with a lack of moral 
fibre that needs to be shown up. The very best thing 
in it to me is the faithful picture of the society which 
makes possible these things, and which gives to the de- 
faulter a certain support in his wrong-doing. Nothing 
could be better than the heart-breaking description of 
JSTorthcote's flight, and its varying mental attitudes. It 
all seemed so natural that one could hardly treat the 
subject any more fairly than ISTorthcote did himself; and 



358 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

then that interminable trip in the sleigh, when his mind 
almost slipped from his grasp, and the wretched home- 
sickness that weighed him to the earth! Surely noth- 
ing could be more unutterably sad. If Howells would 
only keep the heights he reaches he would not dis- 
appoint us so much in his novels. They are almost sure 
to weaken at the end. In this one I was dissatisfied 
with the love-story; and yet both parties were intensely 
interesting, and Matt the most lovable hero one could 
well imagine, simply from his hold on himself, and 
large-heartedness and simplicity. The one thing which 
I simply hate in this book is the uncivilized way Howells 
treats a maiden lady by invariably calling her " the old 
maid," and putting her misfortunes in a ridiculous 
light, beside making her own father join in this con- 
fusion of standards, and lessening his appreciation of all 
her sacrifices for him. Oh, it is the way of the world 
— Howells's world ! but it is not fit for the present age. 
I must leave the book with this one criticism, for all 
the rest seems to me a perfect picture of life; and per- 
haps this is too, only as one of the maiden ladies myself 
I refuse to be held up to the scorn of people who only 
enjoy youth and beauty. 

I had a very pretty little testimonial the other day 
which I would like to put in contrast. Miss Hopkins, 
the young lady from Boston, who teaches physical cul- 
ture at the Drexel, and of whom I have spoken to you, 
went back to Boston last week. The night she was go- 
ing I stopped at the school-house — (she lived with Miss 
Bardwell and Miss Fuld) — to say good-bye. As I came 
away she slipped into my coat-pocket what seemed to be 
a letter. I asked her if it was, and she said, " Oh, no, 
only a little valentine." When I got home I opened it, 
and found two selections, one only of which was familiar, 
from Lowell: " She doeth little kindnesses which most 



1892. 359 

leave undone or despise/' etc., etc., — thee knows the 
rest; but this from Alice Cary I never saw before: 

" Her language is so sweet and fit 
You never have enough of it; 
If she smiles, the house is bright 
Without any candle-light. 
Whether that her hair is rolled 
Round an ivory comb, or gold, 
Pinned or no, I cannot tell, 
In itself it shines so "well. 
Whether she doth wear her coat 
Loose, or buttoned to the throat, 
Hems or ruffles, plain or gay, 
Seems to me, the sweetest way." 

Now doesn't thee think it would redound to How- 
ells's reputation if he could put a maiden lady in that 
light, rather than the other? I was very much touched 
by it, though I admit the poetical license in this case; 
but at least it shows Miss Hopkins in a pleasant and ap- 
preciative light. I miss all these girls very much, but 
am getting adjusted to life with less variety in it. . . . 

Instead of going to Island Heights as she antici- 
pated, she was fast in bed suffering with pain. On July 
14th, 1892, she writes: 

Well, Fin, I will forgive thy forgetting about the 
cinnamon-plant, since thee was so good about the nas- 
turtiums; but I am not disposed to let thee off alto- 
gether. My new lattice entreats to be covered, and I 
want to do my share, and keep it above criticism; so do 
not dare to forget thy responsibilities. 

I am still creeping along towards health very slowly. 
This morning all my courage was needed to bear the 
pain, but this afternoon I have an interval of ease again. 
Sister Mary and Bess came down, and Sis read aloud 
Kenan's " Life of Jesus," which is beautifully written. 



360 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

If thee should take it up, be sure to admire the dedica- 
tion to his sister. We wandered off the reading, which 
is inevitable with Bess and her fluency, and I with my 
interruptions of groans. Bess is trying to convince me 
of the folly of rebellion against this tedious sickness, 
that my attitude of mind hinders the processes of health, 
etc., to all of which I say Amen, but instinctively return 
to the hindering thoughts. Indeed, I am very tired of 
all this long interruption, and feel sometimes as if my 
share of ill-health were a little more than necessary. I 
fancy I could be better as well as more useful if I had 
half a chance. Now it is thy turn to amplify Bess's lec- 
ture, but I forgive you both, as I know your convictions 
have not killed your sympathies. . . . 

Sister Mary has had a set-back about the alterations. 
The labor troubles have gotten into every style of work- 
men, and people are afraid to make contracts; therefore 
there is unavoidable postponement. This clogs the 
wheels for all concerned, and I am persuaded that even 
well people find it hard to learn patience. 

Katie has just brought me a specimen of white clem- 
atis in our back yard, which is just ready to burst into 
bloom. It has been years concluding to do it, but per- 
haps it remembers, as I do, "As long as God ceases not, 
I cannot cease; I must arise." In spite of F. C, I can- 
not help liking H. H. She has a way of saying things 
that I think. . . . 

John wants me to go out to Millbourne to stay, but 
even if I could go, (which I cannot), it would seem too 
much of the past to help me to go forward. 

Now, good-bye, with love to everybody. Write me 
when thee can. My mind seems limp, and will not take 
hold of things, but I think it could grasp thy senti- 
ments. 



1892. 361 

3303 Hamilton Street, July 19th, 1892. 

It is almost night, dear Fin, and I have no time to 
do more than give a report of myself. Thy letter has 
to be pondered over before I can answer it; but not 
now. 

I am better; but, like a convalescent child, very hard 
to please, and somehow " down in the mouth," so to 
speak. I have not been downstairs yet to-day, and 
actually did some sewing. I am very apt to take up sew- 
ing when I feel the worst, perhaps as a sort of penance. 

Sister Mary and Bess spent part of the morning here, 
and I read the " Technique of Rest," by Anna Brackett, 
which is a perfect little gem. If thee has not seen it, 
I must send thee mine (already full of marks), but I 
think thee had better get one from Wanny's, price sixty 
cents, as I am sure thee will like it. Bess also read 
Whittier's "Answer," and we had a nice morning 
altogether. . . . 

Sis and Bess had a lovely visit at Millbourne on Sun- 
day, and had a long ride up the Wissahickon, etc., etc. 
It did Sis lots of good to get such an outing. There is 
nothing like change of thought sto bring us up into a 
better atmosphere. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, July 22d, 1892. 

Thy letter, Fin, is the best part of breakfast. It 
came while I was toying with this meal, and gave it a 
relish which it did not otherwise possess. We are all in 
rather a low spot in West Philadelphia, and Bessie says 
" even mental science doesn't seem to touch it." After 
all Sister Mary's plans for alterations, and her fine an- 
ticipations of increased comfort next winter, the whole 
thing is given up. They think the estimates were all 
too high, and are playing on her credulity by talking of 
the absent trustee in a " Spenlow and Jorkins " way. 
Mr. Steen was very nice, but of course his fellow-trustee 



362 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

is " inflexible/' and so poor Sis was crushed. I was so 
indignant that it quite used me up, but I have insisted 
on her making some expostulation. She said: " Why, 
what could I do? Their reasons seemed good, so I only 
said I was disappointed." . . . 

It is really pitiful to see Sis now, and I told Bess her 
attitude convinced me of the truth of mental science, 
for she looks broken physically, and it is nothing but 
thought which has worked this destruction in her nerves. 
She and Bess just now stopped on their way to town, and 
I was shocked with her appearance. I made them sit 
down in my room while Katie made her a Shanghai 
punch (if thee knows what that is), and this, with the 
enforced rest in waiting, seemed to put some heart in 
her. It is very pathetic to me to see her patient sub- 
mission to this disappointment, and, as she said, " If I 
could not afford to pay the increased rent, could not 
afford to have every convenience and luxury, it would 
not be so hard to submit to; but it just seems as if I must 
always live in a makeshift way, and my endurance is the 
only reliance now." It does seem too hard; and I en- 
forced my position of insistence, and urged that the 
absent trustee could be written to, and advised her to 
write Mr. Steen that she could not consider their de- 
cision as final. This she promised to do, but in a half- 
hearted sort of way. ... 

I am quite troubled about her, and advise all her 
friends to bolster her up. We thought we could all get 
a better outlook by going into the country, and I ac- 
cepted John's proposition for a few days at Millbourne, 
. . . and if nothing unforeseen occurs, we are to go out 
for a few days, and I think it will do lots of good to all 
concerned. . . . 

I am still in my room until the last part of the day, 
but I cannot hurry myself. Last evening I sat on the 
porch for an hour and more. Sis and Bess found me 



1892. 363 

there when they came down, and we had a talk on " sub- 
mission/' which I think can be carried quite beyond a 
virtue. 

Tom has just gone off to town, and by him I send 
my " Technique of Eest " for thee. I hardly know how 
to part with it, but am so anxious for thee to read it that 
I cannot help sending it. Practical hints all through 
it, and so pleasantly written. . . . 

When thee talks of my reading a little book thee 
" gave me at Christmas " called, " Finding the Christ 
in Ourselves," I beg to protest against thy memory. It 
was probably somebody else who was favored, certainly 
not " poor me." As to " Susan Coolidge's Stories for 
Children," I know nothing about them, but would be 
glad of an introduction to them, for thee knows I am 
devoted to children's books, and my mind is too weak 
just now to cope with anything higher. . . . 

All that thee says in thy last about thy want of faith 
in letters to me, seems quite out of character. I cannot 
imagine how I could ever feel anything but grateful for 
all thy earnestness. 

My reason for not answering thy long letter was 
partly physical inability, but more because of internal 
discouragement, that those who most need helps find it 
hardest to get them. I am indeed a very hard subject, 
not because of unwillingness, but more than anything 
else from timidity. " I dare not fix with mete and 
bound " any formula of faith. If I could believe, I 
would gladly embrace the infinite help to be found in 
mental science. I see it, as it were, afar off, and as if it 
were meant for others, but not for me. I fix my hopes 
on simply getting into a better spirit of submission and 
sympathy. 

" If my faith is vain, 

If hopes like these betray, 
Pray for me that my feet may gain 
The sure and safer way." 



364 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

Above all things, dear Fin, do not torture thyself with 
doubts of how thy efforts are received by me. I fancy 
I know an earnest spirit when I meet it, and am hos- 
pitably inclined, even if there is no other meeting-point 
between us. Since I have been sick this time, I seem to 
feel very helpless to grasp anything tangible, but I have 
a faith, blind enough, to be sure, but something that 
carries me beyond any complaints, or even regrets, and 
makes me long to build up my will into a fortress of 
strength where now is only weakness. 

If thee does not recall Whittier's "Answer," look in 
his Poems, page 479, second volume. It is simply 

perfect: 

" The sweet persuasion of His voice 
Respects thy sanctity of will. 
He giveth day; thou hast thy choice 
To walk in darkness still. " 

Also read in the same volume " The Shadow and the 
Light." 

" We turn us from the light, and find 
Our spectral shapes before us thrown, 
As they who leave the sun behind 
Walk in the shadows of themselves alone/' 

When one's mind turns in any given direction, a 
hundred supports are furnished in the most unexpected 
ways. I seem to find mental science in every book I 
open, — perhaps because I only open those in which it 
is set forth. How infinite are the ways by which we are 
led! I walk in absolute faith so far as the spirit is con- 
cerned, but bodily ills seem to forbid any " open sesame " 
for me in that direction. I can quite fancy the ill effects 
of looking for great things, but I have no misgivings 
when the smallest proof is given. . . . 

One has to gather the manna every m'orning, and 
mine often is left until its virtue is gone. Now, dear 
Fin, this jerky letter must end. I have written it at 



1892. 365 

various intervals, this morning, and somehow thee must 
find the central thought. When my hack gives out and 
my pains come on I get very materialistic, and find noth- 
ing but bed will help me. 

I meant to have written to Sary to-day, but fear it 
will not get done. She has been so good in writing, 
with or without encouragement, she deserves much more 
than I can give her. 

Let me hear from thee again, and do tell Anne to 
hurry up and put me out of suspense. Love to each and 
all from thy loving and faithful M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, July 24th, 1892. 

Thy announcement yesterday, dear Fin, had but one 
drawback, for I had set my heart on Helen having a 
namesake. Never mind, there is no fear but that it will 
come, for, as Katie said when I told her, " Och! them 
bates all!" meaning, I suppose, thy daughters. Truly 
there seems no lack in that generation. I am glad it 
is safely over, and trust they will content themselves 
with " letting well enough alone " for a few years. The 
name Dyer I like, only would have preferred the W with 
it. It sounds strong and doughty, and has a character 
of its own. Even without being a martyr like his an- 
cestor he may have to be a martyr to principle like 
Frick. How perfectly dreadful that is, and how strong 
his character comes out through it all! This is a time 
that tries men's souls, and is a heavy load on women's 
hearts; but if it will only teach the government to re- 
strict emigration, it will solve the labor question in the 
most practical way. 

To-day Tom and I have simply existed, for, after 
reading the paper, life seemed to stand still for us. In 
the three weeks of my being upstairs, everything in the 
way of books had piled up, and I proposed to Tom to 
go over them and see whether we could have a place for 



366 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

everything. He has been working over his things, and 
just now called me in as an advisory committee. I have 
been looking into books, papers and pamphlets, and be- 
hold I found in an envelope (with one of his little 
Christmas books) the little leaflet which I assured thee 
I had never received. It seemed to come up of itself 
just at this moment, and I have been lying on the sofa 
reading it, and getting out of it what thee desired for 
me. It was no doubt slipped into the envelope with 
Tom's book at Christmas time to bring home, for I had 
never seen it until now. It is well thee referred me to 
it, and the answer came. 

I have just been grinding out a letter to Sary with- 
out a thing to say, and I will look up her letter received 
yesterday to enclose in this. What good times they are 
having in all this atmosphere of cultivation! To-day is 
rather a blue day for me, as I get no outlook for myself 
until I am free of pain. The doctor discourages my 
going to Island Heights, so I have put it off for another 
week. Sis and Bess went up to Sellers' yesterday after- 
noon, and will return this evening, I suppose. ... I 
hope thy next report will tell me that Anne has some 
good help, for I cannot bear to think of her unsettled 
affairs. There is nothing that seems so miserable to me 
as unsettlement in any one thing, and yet too much of 
a rut is discouraging. 

I have been much interested in looking over the last 
journal kept by Lady Brassey. Poor thing! she was 
buried at sea; and her husband's touching memoir writ- 
ten for her children, is the portrayal of a fine character. 
What wonderful opportunities she had for seeing the 
world with all her loved ones in company! 

Tom is building his boat on paper to-day, and is con- 
sulting me in every detail as though he expected me to 
live on it most of the time. I wonder if I will ever 



1892. 367 

even see it! but it pleases him to think my outings will 
be assured. . . . 

Give my love to everybody, and kisses for the little 
Dyer, and many warm congratulations for his dear 
parents. I trust he may prove a great stay and comfort. 

3303 Hamilton Street, August 1st, 1892. 

Thy postal and book, dear Fin, came this evening, 
and before I go to bed I must send thee a line in reply. 
We all came in from Millbourne this morning. Bessie 
has gone to join Steve, and Sis and I are in our respec- 
tive homes. . . . 

Tom has written to the Windsor at Cape May, ask- 
ing for rooms over Sunday next. It seems to me a lit- 
tle breath of sea air might build me up enough to finish 
the summer, and we now await the reply to this letter. 
I was so weak and miserable at Millbourne that I could 
not help recalling that never-to-be-forgotten summer 
fourteen years ago, when the same intense heat pre- 
vailed, and the same indescribable weakness without a 
chance to indulge it. The sad ending, and the read- 
justment of my life, were continually before me at Mill- 
bourne this last week, all caused by the association of 
intense heat. I think John and Howard hardly knew 
what to do with a person who could not eat, but simply 
lay still most of the time. Fortunately for them, Bess 
and Sister Mary were manageable, and we really had a 
lovely visit. . . . 

We had some nice books; and, as thee likes biog- 
raphy, thee had better read the life of Bryant, in the 
" Men of Letters " series. It is charming; and his 
modesty is so instructive one cannot but rejoice that he 
was finally so much appreciated. John also brought out 
a new book on Saturday evening, " The Life of Thomas 
Paine," by Moncure D. Conway. It would be good read- 
ing, for not many men ever had such influence, or were 



368 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

more thoroughly misunderstood and reviled in spite of 
many good deeds and strong thoughts. I cannot write 
a line more, for I find myself going to sleep over this, 
and I am sure thee will too. 

3303 Hamilton Street, August 8th, 1892. 

Oh, yes, Fin, the books came; and when Tom came 
home he found me sitting on the porch with my lap full, 
and greatly entertained with them. I began on the 
" Nine Little Goslings," and shall probably go straight 
through, as T. C. S. did with the Eollo books. I find 
children's books suit me better than novels, unless these 
last have a decided character of their own. 

I have just returned from Millbourne, where I went 
on Saturday with Alice. We had a lovely time and two 
charming drives. . . . 

Howard and John are looking forward confidently to 
their wives coming back this week, though they have 
neither of them said a word like it. Millbourne looks 
lovely, but I cannot like it so well with the trees cut 
down on the road-side, necessitating that huge bed of 
shrubbery, which takes off the dignity of the lawn. . . . 

John was busy reading the " Life of Thomas Paine," 
and Alice dipped into it, too, but I was lazy, and lay 
around drinking in the air, for it was a perfect day. 

Poor John would be distracted if he had a delicate 
wife, for he hovered anxiously around trying to imagine 
something that would make me better, when I was really 
well off, and no chance to complain. . . . 

Hawthorne Inn, Gloucester, Mass., September 13th, 1892. 

Sary is very anxious for me to write to thee, " be- 
cause that last letter of mine was all about thee." Now 
she is in a fit, because thee has not gotten it, but I am 
quite satisfied, for I might possibly contradict it in some 
way without knowing. I suppose I have been presented 



1892. 369 

to thee as an interesting invalid, which role I no longer 
can fill. I have just come up from dinner with a feel- 
ing of being too fat to walk. My appetite is at its best, 
and I always " make hay when the sun shines." Yester- 
day we spent at Annisquam with Bessie. Tom left 
early in the morning for Philadelphia, and to console me 
for his absence we took this trip. The electric cars tear 
along up hill and down dale, and give one all the ex- 
hilaration that a drive on the beach might do, without 
any strain on one's sympathies for the horses. The walk 
after we left the cars was a little too long for my role 
of invalid, but after lying down for an hour I looked 
around for new worlds to conquer. This came in an in- 
vitation from Bessie to take a ride around and through 
Pigeon Cove, etc. Bess drove the horse named Billy, 
who proved himself equal to the occasion. We parted 
in Gloucester, she returning to Annisquam, and we via 
electric cars to East Gloucester. I went to bed at seven 
o'clock, and slept until six in the morning; so thee sees 
how anxious thee ought to be about me. This morn- 
ing I was ready to go over the same trip, but they made 
me lie on my back under the promise of going out to the 
ocean this afternoon. We have engaged a horse and 
carriage to take us, in view of my settled inability to 
walk when I can ride. The surf is tossing up on the 
rocks to the height of from twenty to fifty feet (the high- 
est since February), and we cannot miss the magnificent 
sight. The air here is simply perfect, and I enjoy the 
thought of its invigoration for me lasting into the win- 
ter, which I sincerely trust it may do. I do not look 
forward to this winter with much contentment, but may- 
be a little Gloucester may keep me above all these mis- 
givings, and push me into something better than I think. 
I have a wild idea of going to St. Paul this fall if 
T. C. S. has a certain business to take him beyond that 
point. It may turn out nothing, but I am ready to fly 



370 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

at a moment's notice. A letter from Lizzie received 
since I have been here has fired my enthusiasm, and if 
I could insure myself against making her uneasy or giv- 
ing her trouble, I would push through everything to go. 
She tells me of how she hated to see Uncle William and 
Aunt Amelie leave, after their lovely little visit. She 
said they seemed so interested about her home, and felt 
so near to her, and she could not bear to let them go. I 
fancy I should get a welcome if I could go; but this is 
" a flight of fancy," as Father would say, and I will not 
dwell upon it. 

Knowing thy abhorrence of descriptive letters, I 
have carefully avoided mentioning the superb scenery 
yesterday on our ride, but I must tell thee we saw every- 
thing there was to see between here and France. The 
Isles of Shoals were plainly visible not far off, and then 
the illimitable sea stretching out into the sky to the 
" other end of nowhere/' 

We have had quite a pretty exhibition of water-colors 
here, and I treated myself to one as a reminder of 
Gloucester. This was partly frustrated by the fact, 
afterward ascertained, that it was taken at Scituate, 
which place I have never seen. Still, it is in the bot- 
tom of my trunk, and I shall call it Gloucester, since I 
plainly recognized the spot before purchasing it. The 
signs of rain are increasing, but all signs fail here. In 
Philadelphia, however, I should say that this wind will 
bring rain before morning, moaning as it does. 

Since being here, I have done absolutely nothing. 
Sary pursues the even tenor of her way, and beautiful 
things are the result of her industry. This morning 
she deserted her fancy-work for the purpose of fixing 
my silk waist, and I lay on the bed and read aloud to 
her, which picture is so natural thee could not wish it 
different. Alice also never swerves from her line of 
duty. She reads and takes notes, and studies as calmly 



1892. 371 

as if she were up in Mt. Moriah at home; she also finds 
time to " do something for somebody quick/' and bosses 
me as much as in her lies. Mrs. Merritt from Brooklyn 
is our chief companion, full of interest, humor, and 
pleasant ways. She has constituted herself my care- 
taker since Tom left, and in every way tries to rehearse 
his role. If I do not do exactly as she says, she insists 
on telegraphing to Mr. Smith as he directed her to do! 
She is one of the party that goes over to the surf this 
afternoon, and we take with us piles of shawls, to lie 
about on the rocks with, and keep our enthusiasm warm. 
I must not forget to tell thee that Bess is going to 
Swiftwater to-morrow to see her mother and Anna, on 
her way to the Watkins sanitarium, where she will prob- 
ably stay a month or so. She is far from well, but capti- 
vates all our friends here when she comes. . . . 



LETTEE TO ANNE G. BRADFORD. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 7th, 1892. 

Dear Anne: 

I am quite charmed with Helen's report of Miss 
Shapleigh, and as soon as possible Sister Mary and I will 
call on her. Frank has good taste and good judgment, 
so I hope he is bringing a prize into the family. 

I had a sweet little call to-day from Alice Sellers. 
She was never as pretty and attractive as now, I think, 
but why did I trace a resemblance to thee? It must 
have been her expression, for I could not fasten it on 
anything more tangible. 

No time to write this evening. Katie is sick, and 
when she is the least indisposed her misery is pathetic. 
I must send this to 1504, for I do not know thy new 
address on Gilpin Avenue. Good-night, with love to all. 



372 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

LETTER TO ANNE G. BRADFORD. 

(After Pattie's return from St. Paul, where she had been 

for a month.) 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 15th, 1892. 

Ever since I came home I have been so rushed, and 
find so little done, that I begin to feel the effects there- 
of. My first care and anxiety were about little Tote, 
who had evidently pined in my absence; and she soon 
passed into a dangerous condition of asthma or acute 
bronchitis. Mr. Smith and I took turns with her for 
three nights trying to help her, and her pitiful appeals 
were beyond expression pathetic. Finally, we put her 
out of her misery on the 8th, and she took her little 
whiff of chloroform, as she did everything else, trust- 
fully. Such a vacancy ever since in the house! I could 
not help feeling down, but I console myself with her 
happy life, and her certainty of heaven if there is one 
for dogs with human affections and a pure spirit. 

My next trouble was with Katy, who developed 
blood-poisoning in her arm. She has had a dreadful 
time, and I think the doctor was uneasy, as I undoubt- 
edly was. It needed all my extra St. Paul strength to 
keep up and supplement her. Now at last she is about 
again, with her arm in a sling; so thee sees I am pretty 
well handicapped still. 

It seems as if the fellow-travelers dropped each other 
when we reached Broad street station, but I thought of 
them a great deal. I have also had Aunt Sadie on my 
mind, for I have not heard from her for so long; but 
positively I have not had a minute of time to indulge 
myself in writing. 

In view of all my complications, Frank will excuse 
my not calling on Miss Shapleigh, but it was not from 
want of interest. 

Aunt Mary is still with me, and her house is slowly 



1892. 373 

progressing, and she is depending on my strength to 
help her select papers, etc., etc.; so thee sees I mnst ab- 
solutely lie by for a day or two. Mr. Smith is always 
leaving his parting directions in the morning to " lie 
in bed all day/' but so far I have had to put off this 
arrangement until the house can be run without me. 

I had a very pleasant little call from Alice Sellers a 
few days ago, and I find her much changed, — the first 
bloom gone, but a sweet spirit makes her very attrac- 
tive. . . . 

I sometimes think thy Father was right when he used 
to say that the " hard part of life was pretty evenly dis- 
tributed," and if all households were unveiled I think 
it would prove true. Since I have been home (much 
of the time forced to rest on the sofa) I have had callers, 
each of whom had a story to tell; and I conclude the 
discipline of life only takes different forms, but is for all 
alike. When thee puts all thy blessings into thanks- 
giving do not forget to mention, first of all, a sweet, 
contented disposition, for that lifts thee out of so many 
complications. . . . 



CHAPTEE XIX. 

1893 and 1894. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 6th, 1893. 

If all the Philadelphia party, dear Fin, have be- 
haved as badly to thee as I, thee will never invite us 
again. When I think of our lovely welcome, and the 
rich entertainment afforded, it seems as if a prompt ac- 
knowledgment of the same would be the least one could 
do in return. Well, we live too fast for such a laggard 
as myself, and after being rushed from pillar to post, I 
found myself at the end of the week without a line to 
thee. Then Sunday, being set aside as a day of rest, I 
proceeded to fill it up with company to dinner and tea, 
and to the Ethics in the morning to look into the morals 
of City Government. Then I learned that your Mr. 
Johnston is to speak next Sunday on George William 
Curtis and Jay Gould: — a contrast! Mr. Salter be- 
spoke a large attendance for him, not only on account 
of his subject, but also to do honor to a man who was 
broad enough to defy public criticism and appear upon 
this Ethical platform, which most ministers, even among 
the liberals, would avoid. I am not sure that I should 
go, for I am free to confess the attraction to the Ethics 
is solely through Mr. Salter, whose persuasive mag- 
netism is so powerful to me. 

Thus far had I written this morning when the time 
came for me to start out in the weather for my Hos- 
pital meeting. Standing at corners waiting for the cars, 
and paddling up and down in the dreary sleety streets, 
I reflected on Mr. Salterns discourse of yesterday morn- 
ing, wherein the many deficiencies and annoyances in 
our city were directly traceable to the apathy of voters; 



1893, 1894. 375 

and I chafed under the fact that paying my taxes like a 
man, I was still utterly powerless to alter any of the 
abuses under which we groan. Finally, when the car 
came in sight, I could hear the poor horses two squares 
away slipping and plunging, and the terrible thud of 
their breathing (both being afflicted with the heaves); 
and I was so indignant at this miserable Traction Com- 
pany, who do nothing but roll up their bank accounts, 
and at the Councils, who have deliberately handed over 
the city to their tender mercies, and at the miserable 
men who have put them in office, that I felt as if time 
dragged until women, who are at least conscientious, 
could bring in a better order of things by their votes. 
You women in Wilmington are not as public-spirited as 
1 like, when you do not rush in as property-owners and 
assert yourselves when the chance is given. 

Harry Bancroft, who has just come home from Paris, 
is simply horrified at the state of things in Philadelphia, 
which seems to him far worse than when he went away. 

This afternoon I would gladly go in to hear Horace 
Howard Furness in his Shakespeare lectures, but it is 
simply out of the question to depend on the cars, and I 
am indignant enough. 

Another source of annoyance makes me grind my 
teeth to-day at our own mean-spirited women on the 
Hospital Board. We are very much in need of a sew- 
ing-machine, and are always poor. A month ago I 
proposed that each manager should give one dollar to 
add to the pitiful sum of ten already collected from the 
outside. Well, does thee know, they wouldn't do it? 
And at this meeting this morning when the need of a 
sewing-machine was again set forth, I proposed a still 
lower sum, and suggested fifty cents for each manager; 
and still they wouldn't do it. My only comment was, 
" Well, I wish our board of managers could be educated 
at Wilmington." They all laughed at this, and seemed 



376 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

to think it a great joke; but it was dead earnest. I am 
sick of people who can afford everything they want for 
themselves, and can do nothing but languidly sit around 
at the meeting, and as languidly feel the necessities of 
the Hospital. Altogether, I am so in love with the dead 
earnest, capable women of Wilmington, that I find my- 
self taking great pride in whatever they do. The other 
day at our Club meeting I sat behind Mary G-awthrop, 
who asked me about the Wilmington Club house. Of 
course I enthused, and added, " It takes ours down con- 
siderably," to which she replied: "Well, Mrs. Nichols 
had not half a chance here; there were so many indiffer- 
ent people who know nothing about building, that one 
who thought she did took all the authority." I suppose 
if I were in Wilmington I too should turn out some 
good work, but we are not as practical a people as 
you. . . . 

Saturday, Anna and I went out to Darby, and spent 
the afternoon with Alice. She is still fast upstairs, 
which seems very dismal, and to beguile the weariness of 
it I copied Mr. Salter's lecture on Whittier for her, 
which she greatly enjoyed. I will borrow it sometime 
from her and read it to you, for I am sure you will be 
interested. 

Now do not forget to set aside the 15th of this 
month to be here, to hear Mary Grew on " Ante-Bellum 
Days." I will get two tickets for two Wilmington peo- 
ple, and if more are wanted, please speak up. 

I meant only to write a little note, but behold this 
long sheet about nothing. Love to all. 



3303 Hamilton Street, February 11th, 1893. 

No private appeals touch a public woman! I might 
just as well not have written a long letter the other day 
to thee for all the response I get. Nevertheless, living 



1893, 1894. 377 

in Philadelphia, I have learned to be long-suffering, and 
am disposed to give thee another chance. 

Enclosed please find two tickets for Mary Grew's 
" Ante-Bellum Days " on February 15th. I have filled 
up one for thee, and left the other name to be inserted; 
and whoever comes will be as welcome as flowers in 
May to M. S. On Thursday there is another treat in the 
last reading of Horace Howard Furness, in Shakespeare, 
at Association Hall. I assure thee it is a great treat, 
and you ought some of you to stay over and go to it at 
four o'clock on Thursday afternoon. 

You cannot have everything in Wilmington, and Mr. 
Furness is a Philadelphia production of whom we are 
proud. Now just come up and make us a little visit, and 
see what we can do for you. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 19th, 1893. 

Well, Fin, I am going to give you Wilmington peo- 
ple one more chance to hear Horace Howard Furness, 
which is an education you ought not to miss. He has 
given four Shakespeare readings at Association Hall on 
our Course tickets, and has promised one more on Tues- 
day, the 28th, on " As You Like It." If you are not 
afraid of being crushed in the crowd, pray let me get 
tickets for you. If you could possibly persuade him to 
give some readings at your Century rooms, you would 
forever bless me for proposing it. He is certainly a shin- 
ing light on Shakespeare. Now answer me about this, 
for I do not want you to miss hearing him. 

Since you were up, I have been trying to catch up to 
myself, and spent all of yesterday in bed. To-day I am 
in a restless mood, and want to go to " the other end of 
nowhere," but am fast at home, without any mind to 
fix upon anything. I hope thee sometimes loses thy cen- 
ter too, so I will not feel myself so hopeless as at pres- 
ent. There is no excuse for the blues when one is well, 



378 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

which I am physically, but mentally I am quite dis- 
traught; give me a boost if thee can. 

I hope you got safely home that day. I was so glad 
Anne came, but did not feel as if I half saw her. That 
day I was fagged to the last extent, and Mary Grew 
nearly finished me. She may have been a shining light 
once, but I doubt it. I could have made a better speech 
myself if I had had as much to remember. I will prom- 
ise you better entertainment if you will come to hear 
Mr. Furness on Tuesday next, the 21st. Prof. David- 
son is to speak at our Century on Robert Burns. He is 
generally worth hearing, and I want you to realize that 
there are some attractions outside of Wilmington ! Love 
to everybody. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 22d, 1893. 

It is with great satisfaction I note the writhings of 
thy conscience, dear Fin, in regard to thy outrageous 
neglect of me. Sister Mary told me of her enjoyable 
call, and of how thee could not do both; and thy note to 
Tom is ample evidence of how conviction has darted on 
thy soul. No words of mine will be half so effective as 
a stony silence on the subject, and so I leave thee to the 
tender mercies of thy outraged duties. 

I am reading Catherine Booth, and she never up- 
braids, excepting in the power of the Lord! I want thee 
to read this book, and see what thee can make of this 
realistic religion. She goes home from her meetings 
bathed in perspiration, and her husband also; and they 
sit down and count up the souls they have saved in a 
certain commercial spirit that is wonderful. Her chil- 
dren write to each other about the state of their souls, 
and she is always exhorting them to talk naturally of the 
conditions in which they find it. She thinks it a great 
mistake to be always avoiding the subject of religion, 
which should be the common topic of conversation; but 



1893, 1894. 379 

it leaves such a wide field for self-exaltation and pa- 
tience that I wonder at it. However, I make no criti- 
cisms on her work. The results were wonderful. Thee 
must read it and judge for thyself. She says the only 
thing is that people persist in making a religious life 
secondary. When they are plainly taught, " Be not con- 
formed to this world," they make a liberal translation 
to suit themselves, and say, " Well, I must have this, and 
must have the other, and if the Lord Jesus will come 
in at the end, and sanctify it all, we will be very much 
obliged to him." Sacrifice is not entertained for a mo- 
ment, and we all think unconcernedly of the most vital 
of all subjects. Self, in its thousand and one modifica- 
tions, is the goal of the sinner, and the universal law of 
love that of the saint, and conversion is simply exchang- 
ing the one for the other. This is urged in its varying 
forms, but the weeping and wailing and shouting is not 
criticized as we would criticize it. It seems to me a ter- 
ribly loose way to get religion, but they get something 
that is certainly helpful. 

I have had two days in bed to mend up my back, and 
Catherine Booth has been most companionable and com- 
forting. It takes a certain resolution to lay by for re- 
pairs when I am or ought to be well, but there is no help 
for it. Then comes a time when there is no choice for 
me. 

There was one strong reason, among others, that I 
wanted particularly to have thee come here the other 
day. Thee must give me some instruction about a pres- 
ent for Frank and Edith. Tom and I each want to give 
something, and it is just as well to know what is most 
needed, so I apply to thee now for information, and 
don't thee forget it. As soon as I am able to go around 
again, I must get this off my mind. 

Katie gave me a characteristic suggestion this morn- 
ing, describing minutely "a coal-scuttle, such as they 



380 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

have in the Old Country; fine flowers on the outside, 
and a place back of it for shovel and tongs. Oh, I know 
Mr. Frank would like that! " Katie has already taken 
Edith into the family, as she found her " so nice, with 
no stiff ways! " 

These March days are very trying to my equilibrium, 
or rheumatism, I do not know which it is. I am trying 
to " stay my haste, and make delays, for what avails this 
eager pace? " but it is almost impossible to be as lazy as 
I have to be. Now I think it would be a good time for 
thee to send me some of thy special literature and see if 
I can get mental poise at least. I could not go to hear 
Furness yesterday, as I so much wanted to do, but I am 
saving up for the Nordica concert to-night by keeping 
on the sofa almost all day. I had a nice call from 
Brother William on Sunday, and called his attention to 
the many little comforts of my home. He thought it 
was " very pretty, both outside and inside." I like to 
remind him of the nice things he does, and of my never- 
ceasing appreciation. I try as far as I can to keep up 
everything about, partly for my own satisfaction, and 
also as a proof of appreciation. It certainly was a happy 
inspiration to give me a home, which is more and more 
needful as I go on in my lazy career. 

Sis has just been here, and tells me I must take sup- 
per with Saide and Alice to-morrow evening at 3417, 
so thee sees I am not too proud to take some of the 
crumbs from her social family!! I leave thee to thy own 
little stings, and am always the same M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, May 2d, 1893. 

Oh, yes, Fin, come by all means, but do not look for 
a " well-ordered house." I was thinking only this morn- 
ing how perfectly horrid my orderly sisters would think 
my home, if they only knew. Still, " I am what I am/' 
and you have borne with me for half a century, and can 



1893, 1894. 381 

probably hold out to the end. I shall be delighted to 
have thee and thine, as far as I can accommodate com- 
fortably. When the hot weather comes thee will not 
like the third story, but let us keep this backward 
spring and no complaints will be listened to. 

I feel highly flattered that out of all the luxurious 
homes of thy relatives here thee has picked mine out 
as suiting thy needs. That is right, Fin! Always pre- 
fer M. S. As to Helen's invitation, I shall be only too 
glad, if I do not go to Harrisburg, as partially promised. 
This week is full up, but indeed when does time hang 
in our family? We all seem too busy, and it is some- 
times hard to keep serene and reposeful. . . . 

Tell Frank I saw the top of his head in his Uncle 
John's dining-room the other morning, as I rode by in 
the cars. It looked intensely happy, but then I only 
saw his hair! I hope Edith will feel like neighboring 
with her new aunt, and not be in such awe of her as the 
rest of thy children are. 

Tell Helen to count on me for the 11th, unless she 
hears to the contrary, from M. S. 

Muncie Cottage, Chautauqua, July 24th, 1893. 

As you dear people are still wallowing in the mire of 
ignorance, it seems eminently proper I should write 
from this seat of learning and the arts. Sary tells me I 
must do it, little dreaming how I may give her away or 
how prosaic my mind is in comparison with the lofty pin- 
nacle of the Smyth family. At the table Alice sits next to 
me, and she discourses learnedly with Professor Waters 
on the " Docetic Doctrine," whatever that is. Now, if 
thee doesn't know, please hide thy ignorance, as I have 
done mine in more directions than one since I have been 
here. I look with some awe at the strides thee is mak- 
ing in public life, but thee has never yet been to Chau- 
tauqua, so thee has not fathomed the depths of thy ig- 



382 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

norance. From early in the morning until late at night 
we are making a mad rush for learning. . . . 

Well, to give thee a specimen: — We hurry through 
our breakfast (if we are very ardent) to go up to the 
chapel in order to hear the remarks made by one Pro- 
fessor or another. I went one morning on purpose to 
hear Mrs. Palmer, who is my special delight. She is 
now the wife of Prof. George H. Palmer, of Harvard 
University. She was for eight years the principal of 
Wellesley College, and is now one of the deans of Chi- 
cago University. She is a rare woman; a ripe scholar, 
and of most attractive address. Her magnetism is won- 
derful, and all the women and girls in the place, not to 
mention the boys, are running after her. . . . 

Well, this is only an aside. I must go on with the 
exercises of the day: — At 8 o'clock, chapel; at 9, the 
" Woman's Club "; at 11, during this last week, Prof. 
Palmer's lecture on the " Ethics of Pleasure "; all of 
which were charming: a chance hour after this for din- 
ner; then at 2.30 another lecture; at 4, another; then 
Vesper services, and if anybody is gross enough to want 
supper, this is their chance. At 7, organ recital; at 8, 
another lecture. This week we will have Percy M. 
Reese at 8 o'clock each evening in the amphitheatre, 
and when I go home Mrs. Reese will respect me more 
than ever before if she finds I have heard and seen her 
darling son. 

Of course you must have heard from Alice or other 
Chautauquans of these halls without any sides, where 
the birds fly in and out, and the leafy walls rustle and 
shimmer in the sunshine. They are very charming in 
warm weather, but this morning was so cold we longed 
to sit in the sun, which we did. Mrs. Palmer was the at- 
traction, and gave us good food for thought. Emily 
Huntington Miller presided. She is a little woman with 
a sort of tight expression, a little like a nut-cracker; so 



1893, 1894. 383 

fixed is the purpose of her face. She called upon 
mothers to give good home training to girls and boys 
before they went to college; and when Mrs, Palmer fol- 
lowed, she insisted that some of the duty of this should 
belong to the fathers; that but few fathers ever thought 
of giving their daughters any real responsibility, any 
business training, or any information on business opera- 
tions. She thought the general feeling with fathers is 
that daughters are made for home decoration and their 
own special entertainment, instead of for personal evo- 
lution. Of course she strongly urges college life for 
every reason; first for knowledge, then for association, 
but above all for self-reliance. She thinks the petted 
daughter is almost always improved by finding perhaps 
that instead of being number one, she is number 581, 
and she must see to it that her end is kept up. 

Here my letter was interrupted by a call from Mrs. 
Palmer. Saide and Mrs. Waters had called upon her the 
other night, and this was the return of their call. She 
was entertained out on our common balcony. . . . She 
(Mrs. P.) told us how she made bread, and also currant 
jelly; so the higher education has not interfered with 
practical life, and she has certainly great magnetism. 
She half promised to go to Wilmington to speak at your 
Century Club this winter, and then she will be a guest 
at the Smyth mansion. . . . 

It seems a month at least since we arrived in Chau- 
tauqua. That was a week ago, in the midst of summer 
weather; now my fingers ache with the cold, and when 
I think of all that has been crowded into this time, it 
stretches out quite beyond the limits of the calendar. 
I do not see why I should not eventually become a great 
light. Opportunities are offered enough here to fill a 
life-time. I wake up in the morning with a thirst for 
knowledge, and go to bed at night with an aching void 
yet to be filled. I have a small note-book full of infor- 



384 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

mation, which nobody could possibly read but myself; 
and I am confident that when I go from here only my 
natural modesty will prevent thy feeling the wide wastes 
between us. If thee wants to be anybody, do come to 
Chautauqua!! It is a perfect place in itself, and no 
limits to opportunities for improvement. Professors are 
our common diet. We have two at our table, and the 
one at our end is Prof. Waters, from Cincinnati Uni- 
versity. He is young and handsome, and has a lovely 
wife and boy, and their first meeting being here at 
Muncie Cottage, they have a particular affection for the 
place. It is with Prof. Waters that Alice talks at the 
table on subjects beyond my pen. It is Prof. Batchelor 
who sits at the other end, who comes from St. Paul. His 
wife is also very lovely-looking, but so far my chief in- 
terest in her is that she knows Lizzie. Prof. McClin- 
tock is young, too, and looks like Wilfred Bancroft. He 
has a course up at the college which both Saide and 
Alice attend, but as that requires an extra five dollars I 
have concluded to content myself without it. If I di- 
gest everything else thee will see me a changed woman. 
I think of you all with a certain feeling of relief, that 
eventually I can come down to solid ground. . . . 

I have no more time to waste on letters, and thee will 
see what a rush I have been in to write even this much. 
Do write me, and give my love to each and all; and tell 
them they will never amount to anything if they do not 
get to Chautauqua. 

3303 Hamilton Street, August 29th, 1893. 

For fear thee takes it into thy head, dear Fin, to 
come up to-morrow, I may just mention that I expect to 
go out to Wallingford to stay all night, and I should be 
mad enough to miss thee. I am rather laid on the shelf 
by this hot weather and the mess in the house, and 
think the only thing is to fly the course for a day. All 



1893, 1894. 385 

depends on the temperature; if it is cooler, I will go; if 
not, here I shall remain. 

I meant to send for thee to come up and help me 
choose papers, but I must wait until I get up my 
strength and judgment for this expedition, and then I 
trust thee can come. Will thee give me thy sage opinion 
on this question: — Painting first, or papering first, — 
which is best? I vacillate from one opinion to another 
on this, but thee has thy mind made up, no doubt, right 
or wrong, so please give me the benefit. I have had such 
courage in this great turning-up that, now it is oozing 
out, I try to think it is the weather, and not my back. 
Anyhow, the result is the same; and I force myself to 
accept Agnes's urgent invitation to-morrow, but do not 
want to miss thee, so do not come, whatever thee does. 
It seems to be my mission of late to keep thee away, but 
I am sure thee understands. 

3303 Hamilton Street, August 31st, 1893. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, greeted me this morning on my 
return from Wallingf ord. I am glad thee did not come 
to Philadelphia, and the truth is, I do not want thee to 
come at all this week!! To-morrow I am going out to 
Bryn Mawr if it does not rain, and Saturday I will be 
too busy to speak, if I get back from there. After ask- 
ing thee to go with me about the papers, I dashed off 
alone day before yesterday, and was back again in an 
hour's time. There is no chance for waiting here when 
the house is so turned up side down, for the want of 
getting things in train to succeed one another; and thee 
knows in a small house how confusion tells. 

I had a lovely visit at Wallingf ord, a perfect day, 
and the country glorious. I have not yet seen one of 
my family. I began to think John's family had gone to 
Chicago, but Helen Sellers called here to-day, and told 
me that Lucy Barnes was sick at Millbourne. . . . I al- 



386 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

ways feel sorry when usually healthy people have to be 
sick; it is so much harder for them than for those who 
have been less favored. 

Thy little words of cheer went to the right spot with 
me. I am pretty well, but not vigorous; and Prof. 
Palmer told us at Chautauqua that knowing one's limi- 
tations gave a certain sense of content, and being for- 
warned about one's want of strength was really a great 
help in the adjustment of life. I have found it so, and 
have no complaints to make, but hope to keep up to the 
needs of the hour. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, September 11th, 1893. 

After posing all day on the sofa, dear Fin, expecting 
thee any minute on thy way home from Beach Haven, I 
am forced unwillingly to conclude that I am neglected. 
It never occurred to me that thee could go through 
Philadelphia without a call here, but the depths of thy 
depravity are yet to be fathomed. I am sick, ill, dead 
almost, but thee doesn't care a mite! All my strength 
has oozed away in the drag of this business, having no 
good help, but I will yet come up, and show myself 
strong in retaliation at least. I am meditating heaping 
coals of fire on thy head, and passing by other invita- 
tions to land myself at thy door, for Saturday next Tom 
starts to Chicago, and I intend to forsake the camp here 
for a few days just to show that sisterly affection in 
which thee seems so deficient. I am engaged here on 
the Wednesday following, so thee knows how long I can 
stay, and if it were possible I would still further punish 
thee for thy behavior. 

I had addressed an envelope to Sary as the most de- 
serving of attention, but when I remembered that fine 
room ready for me I concluded thee ought to have me in 
it for a night or two as the most appreciative of thy 
friends. Now, if anybody is ahead of me in engaging 



1893, 1894. 387 

these lovely quarters, please say so at once, that I may 
gracefully announce my intentions to Sary of making 
her a short visit. . . . 

I have promised Mr. Smith to lie in bed to-morrow 
and try to get back some of my Chautauqua strength, for 
nothing really helps me but a good dose of bed, and I 
know well he will never go to Chicago unless I am in 
better fashion. Helen Marot came in the most solemn 
way to-day to urge my going to bed, and made all kinds 
of good offers, and wild threats if I did not. 

For my entertainment, I have Helen's "Pride and 
Prejudice," which I vainly tried to get interested in a 
few months ago. Now a scramble for a marriage is 
hardly the foundation of a modern novel, but I am too 
weak in my mind at present to care for anything more 
intellectual, and so I maunder along through its pages. 

I had a lovely letter from Lizzie Sellers to-day, which 
I was prepared to read to thee, but now thee will not 
see it. I should think the merest curiosity would have 
tempted thee to call here, but no! Well, these artful 
dodges will not throw me off thy track. I am bound to 
see thee, and the minute thee gets this letter sit down 
and say whether thee wants me to come on Saturday or 
not, or if thee has Florence Cushing, or housecleaning, 
or a dressmaker, or a lecture, or anything to interfere 
with my intentions. If not, behold me with my little 
bag in my hand at thy door late Saturday afternoon, and 
there (not at the door) I will stay until Tuesday after- 
noon or Wednesday, as seems best. . . . 

Now if thee is coming up to town during this week 
there is yet time, for " while the light holds out to burn, 
the vilest sinner may return, " etc. Good-bye, while I 
answer Sary's lovely little letter. She is always good to 
thy long-suffering M. S. 



388 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 4th, 1893. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, was not unexpected, for my lit- 
tle game was all up on Saturday, when I received a card 
announcing the meeting of the Alliance. I never 
thought of that, and would willingly have spared thee a 
trip to Germantown, which thy sisterly instinct would 
naturally prompt. Now I had no intention of appear- 
ing on this card, and only yielded to Mrs. LongstrethY 
urgency to write a paper. She asked me one day last 
week, and I declined absolutely, giving as my reason 
that I had no views on Sunday observance; and neither I 
have. Mrs. S. was ill, and Mrs. Longstreth would not 
take no for an answer, so I have knocked something to- 
gether; but I assure thee it is not worth hearing. I 
read it to Sister Mary yesterday in order that she need 
not feel compelled to go to Germantown to hear it, and 
I want thee to stay at home unless thee prefers to wit- 
ness my disgrace. I have been a little too much hurried 
to get myself together mentally, and I think my paper 
is very dry; but who could do anything with such a sub- 
ject? . . . 

If thee finds thee can possibly come up the night be- 
fore, I think it would give me a boost; for though I 
thought I did not want thee at the meeting, I am sure 
I want thee here, and it gave me a little thrill when thee 
spoke in such a matter-of-course way of coming. Thee 
knows how simple I am, but it is not the strangers I am 
afraid of, but my solicitous friends. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 27th, 1893. 

Well, my dear Fin, here we are at home, after miss- 
ing our train at Wilmington, and wandering around the 
fields about the station until 9.15. It was all owing to 
Helen's being away, and hence unable to notify us it 
was time to start!! I myself had no care of it, but reaped 
the reward of such carelessness. This was the only flaw 



1893, 1894. 389 

in our lovely visit, unless it be that I have lost my little 
Scotch pin. At home I cannot get dressed without it, 
but I seem possessed to leave it at Wilmington. Please 
look for it, and report. 

"We had quite a nice trip up, and finished off all the 
talk we could get into the hour. When I opened the 
door I found a pile of letters and other documents, and 
a fading bunch of roses from the Muckle boys. Before 
I took off my bonnet I arranged these, and before I ac- 
knowledge them I write to thee. We both imagined 
thee flying to work at thy writing after we left, and 
dropping into thy busy rut. It is good to be busy, but 
not healthful to be rushed; so moderate thy transports 
of usefulness, and " get into the quiet " before the New 
Year opens. 

I have various acknowledgments to make and letters 
to answer, and my Hospital duties to attend to; so my 
note can only be a small recognition of the pleasures 
thee gave us. Every minute was full and suggestive, 
and I always come home enriched from your good com- 
pany. It would seem your own full lives spill over 
something for me that I could never get of myself, and 
for this and all other favors, however unconsciously 
given, I am heartily grateful. Love to each and all, 
and, to quote Tiny Tim, " God bless you every one. " 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 20th, 1894. 

This is Tuesday afternoon, and it really seems the 
first time since my return when I could say a word to 
thee after my lovely visit.' Certainly it was an inspira- 
tion in thee to send for me, since I now find it was just 
what I needed. Sometimes my mind refuses to come 
out of its rut, and the impetus is lacking to keep me on 
a cheerful plane. . . . 

I have been up to Sister Mary's to-day taking lunch, 
and 1 forced the moral upon her that she was very bril- 



390 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

liant if she could only think so. It is only doing what- 
ever comes to one that makes life full and effective, and 
(being so superior myself to this weakness), I took the 
occasion to revile Sis for her self-depreciation. . . . 

I have done nothing but scorn our club and all its 
members since I attended your fascinating " Wimo- 
daughsis," etc., etc., and have entertained everybody 
with the bright things that were said and the brilliancy 
suppressed by myself! I wish they would get up some- 
thing on a like pattern in West Philadelphia, so we may 
be ready for the reign of women. Their rights will 
never be given them until their own education demands 
it. . . . 

Monday I found my time filled up trying to imitate 
thee in getting things done, but I dropped to my own 
level at the first temptation when Miss Bardwell came 
for me to go with her to see the caricature exhibition at 
the Academy of Fine Arts. We went, only to be told 
at the door that it was over, and an auction of the same 
had taken place on Saturday. From the papers I see 
Fred's took one of the medals and six dollars beside. 
Well, we were provoked to miss it, especially as the 
tickets assured us it was open to the 20th; and we had 
nothing to do but come home. . . . 

In the evening 1 went with Tom to the Art Club to 
hear a lecture and see some splendid views of New Zea- 
land. It was a great treat, and I was ready to start off 
and see all these wonders without delay. We do not 
know anything, and the " Wimodaughsis " could not do 
better than urge their members to see these pictures, if 
not the country itself. I never saw such beautiful col- 
ors in any stereopticon views, and the description of the 
country is fascinating. The crowd was so great, how- 
ever, that at least one-half could not get in, ai»d I think 
it will be repealed to accommodate these. I find myself 
unsettled as usual in the spring, and think that a 



1893, 1894. 391 

trip to New Zealand would be a most desirable thing. 
If companionship and means were afforded, thee may 
rest assured Philadelphia would not hold me very long 
after the stir comes into my blood. I am not able to 
tramp, but the bluebird's call is in my veins all the 
same. 

I have thought a great deal of that little talk be- 
tween Lewis and T. C. S. just before we went up to 
Clem's on Sunday. I do not know the rights and 
wrongs of it, but I felt a bond to Lewis immediately 
when he seemed groping after the humanities of life in- 
stead of its material success. The " brotherhood of 
man " seems likely to be left out of our calculations un- 
less somebody speaks up on that side, for the rush for 
the foremost place is the main thought apparently. Lives 
that are simply good, help us more than we acknowledge 
or than they imagine; but we must not forget it. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 16th, 1894. 

At last thy head is level, and I rejoice in it!! Of 
course it will suit me to have thee, and I shall be re- 
joiced if thee comes; but first- 1 must tell thee what 
lions are in the way. In the first place, on Tuesday 
evening there is a certain very important meeting and 
election to take place at the Ethics, which I promised 
to attend; for even an insignificant creature like myself 
has a very decided opinion, which must be expressed in 
a vote that night. Then, on Wednesday night, I have 
accepted an invitation from Miss Bardwell and her sister 
to go with them to hear " The Second Mrs. Tanqueray." 
This engagement is of a week's standing, and Bella 
[Miss BardwelTs sister] goes home next morning, so this 
is the final blow-out. 

Now if T. C. S. can get tickets he would no doubt 
be delighted to go with thee, though he refused to be 
one of the first party! He said only the other day, " I 



392 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

wonder if Mrs. Garrett would like to hear the Kendals "; 
and I think thee would. If thee can get away from thy 
numerous engagements, I think we can easily arrange 
about my few. ... I really feel as if I needed a 
lift in the way of society, as my own has become intol- 
erable. . . . 

Now, Fin, do not stay home to work out thy salva- 
tion alone, because that is only a doubtful benefit, where- 
as if thee works out mine at the same time it will give 
thee an impetus onward and upward. I will give thee 
" Marcella " to read when I have to leave thee for any- 
thing, and thee will find it interesting, though too long. 
I think that is Mrs. Humphry Ward's special fault, — 
trying to make too big a book. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 24th, 1894. 

The picture of thy busy life, dear Fin, is most in- 
spiring; and yet rather depressing to one who cannot 
keep up with the procession. I am never with thee, 
either here or at thy own home, without enjoying the 
fact of thy being so adequate, and underneath all a cer- 
tain feeling of wonder as to how two lives running along 
together are of necessity so different. The ups and 
downs of each, and the inevitable discipline which comes 
alike to all, are so absolutely at variance that I wonder 
if the Powers above know what they are about!!! 

I am glad thee enjoyed thy visit here, which I did 
every minute, but I was very much mortified to find my- 
self dropping behind at every turn. The truth is, I am 
much as Mother used to be in her last years of invalid- 
ism, for it is only by living with me that I am found 
out. Tom thinks (just as I used to do about Mother) 
that nobody knows so well as he how frail is the strength 
of my " best foot foremost." 

After thee left, that day, I continued to lie on the 
sofa all morning. Sister Mary came, and we had quite 



1893, 1894. 393 

a nice, long open talk. . . .Soon after she left Miss B. 
came to consult me about her various plans, and I re- 
membered thy advice about not mixing in. It is the 
hardest thing in the world for me, however, to do any- 
thing by halves; and I can see so clearly for other peo- 
ple, even if I do not always know the right way for 
myself. 

On Sunday I did not stir off the sofa the live-long 
day until five o'clock. Tom was off on his boat, and I 
simply resigned myself to rest, and compelled my cour- 
age not to give way. . . . 

I would have been glad to hear the talk with E. W., 
and do not think I would be easily horrified. Nothing 
really appals me but affectation and cant. The reality 
of life reaches so deep that it becomes a real distress 
when I find so much emphasis placed on outside things. 

I had a little talk yesterday with T. E., who has 
emancipated herself (in her light way) from some of the 
affectations of religion, and was perfectly incensed with 
her new mother's criticisms on the way she spent the 
Sabbath. It was a most unnecessary criticism, and I 
hate to think of little A. being brought up in this close, 
unhealthy atmosphere, remembering the free mind of 
her own mother; but again I was reminded of thy ad- 
vice not to mix in, and, like Brer Rabbit, " I kep' on 
savin' nuthin'. " T. comes over here to get herself "well 
in hand " under some of these trials, and I am glad she 
is soon to be married, for it is an unsatisfactory life to 
be battling with ignorance and prejudice all the 
time. . . . 

Windsor, Vermont, June 26th, 1894. 

Well, my dear Fin, from the above thee might think 
I was in a thriving ISTew England town, when the truth 
of the matter it, we are at least three miles from a lemon. 
Our visit at Steve's ended last night, when we came 



394 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

down the hill, bag and baggage, and settled ourselves 
at Farmer Tracy's. I occupy the room that Steve and 
Bess had while they were building their house, and I 
find evidences on every side of Bessie's fertile brain in 
making things comfortable. Shelves here and there: — 
one for the little oil-stove, which she has kindly loaned 
me; one for a lamp and matches, and another for books. 
A large closet connects my room with one of similar 
proportions which Sister Mary occupies, and there is 
another immediately connected with mine which I would 
like thee to occupy. Whether thee ever gets the long- 
ing for the country as I do I do not know, but certainly 
this might well satisfy such longings. Not to mention 
the glorious hills around on every side, I can look into 
huge old lilacs under one window, from another into a 
pear tree full of fruit (but alas not ripe), and from the 
third window into a grove of maple; so thee sees I have 
country enough for once. This, with plenty of milk 
and plenty of bed-clothes, might well satisfy me. 

I know thee hates descriptive letters, and so will let 
thee go in ignorance of Bessie's home, which overlooks 
everything, but from this standpoint looks like an old 
meeting-house, or perhaps a barn. Inside, however, it 
is simply perfect; nothing wanting in every convenience, 
and infinite variety in the people! . . . 

I am ashamed to confess that I have not been up to 
breakfast in a]] the two weeks I spent at Northcote. 
My breakfast, however, being only milk, I was allowed 
to take it in bed, where a great part of my time has been 
spent. I came up here with a lame side, and had much 
pain in it; but as it is all right now I must conclude that 
Dr. M. was right when he said, " All you want is abso- 
lute rest, and you must distinctly understand that you 
cannot live like other people, but only do about half 
what you feel like doing." He need not have told me 
that, as I find it out every day for myself; and to keep 



1893, 1894. 395 

well it seems necessary to keep the horizontal position 
more than half my time. . . . 

In a round about way I learn that Lizzie Worrell is to 
start east the first of next month, and I must not miss 
her by staying too long here. 

Anna and the children are to come up here on the 
15th to stay until September, and Sis will then have 
plenty of companionship. They are very urgent I 
should stay through the heat, and away from Philadel- 
phia, but I will not commit myself, not knowing what 
minute homesickness may seize upon me, and make me 
no longer a reasonable being. . . . But Philadelphia would 
not be so bad if there were only about half the people 
in it, and not so many smelly gutters. One never knows 
what one is breathing; but here it is full of woodsy odors 
and fine, clear oxygen. . . . 

Windsor, Vermont, July 3d, 1894. 

. . . My sympathies have been very much excited by 
a woman here whom I met the other day, young and 
pretty. We all went to the school examination, a veri- 
table country school with no new methods, and remind- 
ing me more of our own insufficient training than any- 
thing I have seen. Well, the audience was small, and 
contained some very queer-looking people; but one, a 
Mrs. H. (who does our washing), was particularly at- 
tractive, and her sister-in-law, Miss EL/^cjoked as if she 
came out of a story-book. With these two people is 
connected a story which Mrs. Tracy told me the other 
night. I asked something about Mr. H., and she said, 
"Ah, poor man, he is in the Concord Asylum!" It 
seems that, from being' the most devoted of husbands, he 
gradually turned against his wife, would sit in the door- 
way and see her doing his work with perfect indiffer- 
ence, and became at last quite abusive. Afterward, with 
tears, he would tell her, " I could not help it; I knew 



396 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

what I was doing, but couldn't help it." It went on 
from bad to worse, and it was quite evident he was no 
longer responsible, and finally she was persuaded he 
might improve if he were sent to the Asylum. She is 
living on at their lovely old secluded home with his sis- 
ter, who is devoted to her and their little girl. To make 
both ends meet they have a garden, and sell vegetables 
to the city people around here; and they take in washing, 
which seems as inappropriate to their looks as if Chellie 
and Anne did it. They are living on the hope of his 
recovery and return, and nobody cares to tell them that 
his case is hopeless. He was a perfectly sober man, hard- 
working and industrious; and they live in the house of 
his ancestors, some two hundred years old, devoid of 
paint, but broad and low, and the lawn covered with 
grand old trees, and oh, such lovely views! If the records 
of any one neighborhood were written up, what intense 
interest of romance, tragedy and comedy might not be 
evolved! One beautiful house I noticed the other day, 
large and airy, with all the marks of continental glory 
over it, and with it another tragedy was connected. A 
family of husband and wife and three daughters lived 
there in great comfort, and apparent affluence. Some 
years ago he was thrown from his horse and killed 
instantly, and then the change began. The widow could 
no longer keep the place, which was sold without much 
profit; and now she and her three daughters live in a lit- 
tle cottage just below us, and take boarders when they 
can get them. It is all very sad to me to see the gradual 
change in these Cornish hills, the ancestral places pass- 
ing into the hands of city people, who reap the advant- 
age of other's necessities; — and so it goes! 

In the family with whom we are living, most worthy 
people, all the graces of life are sacrificed to hard work, 
saving and struggling to keep their heads above water; 
but for kindness and cheerfulness no one can surpass 



1893, 1894. 397 

them. They never change their dress from morning to 
afternoon, or fix up in any way, but take work as their 
portion, and leave the love of the beautiful to others, 
as though it were not their right as well. 

Thee tells me of a certain letter in regard to Father, 
which I would very much like to see; and I feel about 
John giving it to thee as I did about his gift of a horse 
lang syne. It seems incredible that anybody should pre- 
fer thee to me, but so it is. I am not so nice as I might 
be, but feeling so inwardly lovely I cannot imagine why 
it is not more easily recognized. If thee will send me 
the letter, or extracts from it, I will no longer envy thee. 

If you have been hot in Wilmington, do not think 
for a minute we have been excused from this fiery trial. 
I thought Philadelphia could " take the rag off the 
bush " for heat, but these Cornish hills are nearer the 
sun, I think, and our brains boil daily. Fortunately we 
have cool nights, and so recover our lost energies; but 
I will not perjure my soul by saying the heat is quite 
bearable. We go to bed as soon as it is dark, and do not 
light a candle for fear of the mosquitoes; and then begin 
my hours of wakefulness, which I detest. Sister Mary 
gets up with the lark, but I sleep late, and have a scram- 
ble to get down to breakfast and preserve my character. 

We live a perfectly uneventful life, and were it not 
that we are most agreeable people, we might get tired of 
each other's company. As it is, I lie in the hammock, 
and Sis reads to me, or Bess comes down to see us, and 
stirs us up with her long and interesting recitals of dom- 
estic, social, or mental science problems. I am always 
interested, however unbelieving, and thee need not hesi- 
tate to give me fresh doses of the same medicine, as I 
need it all. What I do not appropriate myself I pass 
on to others, and think they are better for it!! . . . 



398 THE STORY OP A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 20th, 1894. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, was so full of interest, and it 
was so sweet of thee to take the time to write it, that I 
feel as if I must say a word of thanks for it. As thee 
doesn't like me to " traduce " myself, I need not men- 
tion the unpleasant contrast of a busy, useful life and its 
reverse, but will tell thee instead that Tom says I am 
" surely better, for you are getting so sassy." These 
last two days my periods of pain are lessened, but there 
is one part of my anatomy that I cannot forget for an in- 
stant. The doctor wants me to keep pretty quiet, and I 
am very willing, though tired enough of it. I have not 
taken any meal downstairs yet ; but that is not because I 
cannot, but because I will not, I guess. My appetite is 
more to be depended on up here. 

Tom has just gone out, much against his will, to 
meet F. L.'s intended. His joy at finding a moth-hole 
in his pants as an excuse was only equaled by his dismay 
when this was adroitly concealed; and no excuses availed. 
Harry Bancroft was waiting for him, and together we 
made him go; but he was of all men most miserable. 

(Wednesday.) Well, my letter had to be left last 
night; and now at twelve o'clock I am fairly up and 
ready for the day. These habits are quite contrary to all 
my convictions of what is right, but it is an experience 
which makes me more charitable to those who lie in bed 
in the morning. 

Tom came home from the party last night quite 
pleased, having forgotten his pants, and his " horrid 
looks " altogether. It makes me quite miserable some- 
times that he goes out so little, for I know by experience 
how bad it is to carry all one's eggs in one basket, and I 
am convinced his life would be much richer with more 
variety. ... 

I find it does not do for me to dwell upon my Elmira 
experiences; it makes me indignant, and — poisons my 



1893, 1894. 399 

blood. I have been reading some of those Christian 
Science papers this morning before I was out of bed, 
hence my facility in quotation and appropriation. I am 
not to say I am in pain, even if the scowl of my coun- 
tenance has deepened through this long suffering. I 
must not " feel sick," " feel tired/' " feel weak," " feel 
hot," " feel cold," " feel " anything; but cultivate cheer- 
ful thoughts, and lift myself out of sensation. Well, 
this is philosophy, and when I attain it — ah, 
when! . . . 

The doctor is simply building up my nerves, and I 
must take care to help him through a fresh invoice of 
hope and courage. When I get strong enough to find 
myself busy, everything will be helpful. 

Thee asks about the paper. No, it is just as thee 
saw it. All the p]ain papers they sent were horrid, and 
I begin to feel it is my own judgment that is at 
fault. . . . 

If I count this long enforced idleness as a needed 
lesson in patience, it would seem appropriate to show its 
fruits in such a little thing as paper, but I assure thee 
I am inwardly tossed until it is settled and fixed. I 
never had so many people to see my room, and nothing 
could look more horrid, except its occupant, and the 
dirty carpet!! I must wait, and thee will acknowledge 
this is not easy. If I wait, however, for other things 
much more important, then why not for this? 

" Sweet Patience, grant us, if you may, 
An added grace for every day." 

Thy little enclosure, " Serene I fold my hands and 
wait," etc., is not typical, but most instructive; and that 
is what I am trying to do about everything. 

We are looking for Bessie some time this week, and 
I quite long to see her. She is the best nurse I ever 
saw, and most helpful mentally. 



400 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

I have done a lot of reading since I came home, but 
not much stays with me. I want very much to read 
" Frances Power Cobbe," which has just come out, but 
must wait for that, too. 

I must even wait to see thee, dear Fin, and Sary, 
who promised to come. The welcome is ready, but now 
good-bye. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 27th, 1894. 

Well, Fin, after all thy efforts, and giving up thy 
visit to Frank's for my sake, I have stopped all proceed- 
ings on the paper until the beginning of the next week. 
Your choice was all right, as far as I could judge, but 
there was a stop in my mind which I could not ignore. 
Perhaps it was because of an unusual spell of pain this 
morning before Mr. Smith left, and I seemed to be push- 
ing a decision which I was not ready to abide by; there- 
fore he was to say to Carlile's it would suit me better to 
have the workmen next week. This was true, for I truly 
hope to be better and stronger by Monday. In the 
meantime, I gaze at the paper, which is undoubtedly 
pretty, but a little mixy. Katie's comment this morn- 
ing was rather obstructing: " Sure, and ye needn't have 
any pictures, for it don't need them." 

I have been in bed all day, and from that vantage 
ground entertained Clem and Bessie; and afterward 
Agnes Austin. It is a great help to me always to get into 
other people's interests, and more especially now when 
my own are so confused. 

After thee left yesterday, I read the papers thee left 
with great pleasure. A helpful word is a quickening 
spirit to me now. I hope thee will tell Sary that I am 
enjoying " Frances Power Cobbe," and this morning 
passed the first volume over to Sister Mary. . . . 



1893, 1894. 401 

SISTEK MARY'S DEATH. 

During all the autumn our dear sister was a great 
sufferer, and her confinement to the house was an ag- 
gravation, because she could not be with Sister Mary, 
who was ill. Her two daughters were with their mother, 
but still Pattie longed to be of aid and comfort. She 
had depended so upon Sister Mary, who was always 
ready with her sympathy and good judgment, that to be 
absent from her now was another severe trial to her. 

On the morning of December 15th we received a 
telegram at Wilmington announcing the death of our 
eldest sister, and I immediately went to Philadelphia, 
dreading the effect' upon Pattie in her weak condition; 
but I found her much more composed than I antici- 
pated, and she then told me of this singular experience: 
I asked her at what time she had heard the sad news. 
" Why," she said, " I knew it when she died." I looked 
my surprise, and she said, " I was lying here awake, and 
I saw Sister Mary standing at the foot of my bed, and 
I exclaimed, ' Why, Sis, what is thee doing here?' When 
I spoke, she vanished; then I knew she was dead." 

Afterward she found it was just at the hour Sister 
Mary died. 

There were no letters passed between us at this sad 
time, for we were with her frequently, and at Christmas 
she came to us as usual. On December 30th, 1894, after 
her return, she writes: 

My manners were laid aside yesterday, dear Fin, to 
get through some necessary chores; and last evening 
Steve and Bess came down. They brought with them 
from the deserted house two etchings, one for me and 
one for Tom, who hung them in the place of the stag 
pictures in the parlor. Next we hung the lovely Ma- 
donna and the Achilles, and the walls are greatly beauti- 
fied thereby; — one on each side of the piano. As to 



402 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

the poor stags, we put one in the dining-room and the 
other in the hall upstairs. 

My Christmas things still load down the little table 
in the parlor, and my Christmas uplifting still hovers in 
my heart. My visits are always pleasant, but this time 
the tangible effect on my physical well-being is marked. 
I do not get very high expectations from this, for my 
grip is loosened, and I do not seem to be able to bring 
it back. However — one day at a time. . . . 



CHAPTER XX. 

1895. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 3d, 1895. 

Yes, Fin, thy letter was " worth two cents/' and a 
good deal more, to me. I have had a good laugh over 
it, and wish thy mind would not soar aloft, and thee 
could do the knitting easily enough. I have sent Anne 
the same directions that I left with thee, hut I acknowl- 
edge, with all my knitting, I cannot always tell when I 
have narrowed once, and when twice. ... As to the 
seam-stitch, I cannot be expected to furnish brains. 
That is too simple to explain, — one side pearl always, 
the other side plain always. Now go to work and think 
thee is right, and thee will be right!! 

1 have carefully read all the papers thee sent me, 
and Bessie's too, and deduce the above conclusion. If 
thought is creative, then do not come to me complain- 
ing; for there is but one right way even in knitting. 

Bessie and I had a pitched battle this morning on 
the subject of belief being in one's own power to com- 
mand. She thinks I stand in my own light, so does 
thee; while all the time I am grasping all the light I can 
find. There I must stop, for supper is going on the 
table, and I have no chance to prove I am right and you 
are all wrong. . . . This morning Sadie took me out 
sleighing up the Wissahickon. It was simply perfect, 
and the deep green of the hemlocks and the masses of 
ice from the rocks were exquisite. This afternoon I 
have been in bed; but I would do it again if I got the 
chance. 

Now, Fin, turn thy powerful mind to that little 
recipe, and boldly dash on ahead. Thee will find no 



404 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

snags if thee only follows the directions, and has the ex- 
ample before thee of the serene knitter, M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 11th, 1895. 

My reputation for amiability, dear Fin, ought never 
to die out. I was never more struck with this high 
standard than in wrapping up " Frances Power Cobbe " 
to send thee, as per request. Months ago I tried to stim- 
ulate thy mind in that direction. I reveled in it myself 
and longed for everybody else to enjoy it. A polite in- 
terest was all I could get out of thee, but as soon as Ma- 
tilda Ferris comes and sits " over the tea-cups " with 
you, thy enthusiasm is kindled! I know she is a very 
nice and agreeable girl, and I never knew one of the 
family who could not talk well, but I do not like to have 
the contrast so emphasized. She could not enjoy 
"Frances Power Cobbe " more than I did, but it gives me 
a chance to show that malice, envy and all uncharitable- 
ness are foreign to my sweet nature. I love to lend my 
books, as thee knows, but I do not always succeed in 
getting people to like them. If thee doesn't like this, 
however, Matilda Ferris will not like thee, and that is 
a far worse threat than if i" should turn my back on thee. 
Well, what has become of "Mrs. Booth ?" I seem to 
have lost track of her since it went to Wilmington, and 
much as I like to lend my books, I am not inclined to 
give them away. . . . 

I fancy Sary has it, but it proved too much for thee. 
In spite of its sensationalism, I liked it, as a guarantee 
that religion does not always run in the same mould, but 
in reality is of the same spirit wherever it is found. I 
heard a discourse on Sunday in regard to the Jews, and 
I united with them in their faith, though on general 
principles I would differ with their conclusions. The 
Ethics suit me, since everybody can have their own lit- 
tle secret religion, so they keep the moral standard high. 



1895. 405 

I like to feel free, but am quite conscious that Mr. Sal- 
ter is the central attraction in this movement for me. 
If thee will get Mr. Bowser to preach the right sermon, 
I will go to the Spring Garden Church on Sunday, as 
Percival Chubb is to speak at the Ethics, and I do not 
know that he would suit me at all. 

Going to church is a lost art for me for so long that I 
grasp every opportunity now. On Wednesday last I 
went to the Century Club, the first time for eight 
months. I enjoyed it ever so much, and for the first 
time thought it compared favorably with Wilmington 
talent. It was so bitter cold coming out that I found 
T. C. S. in a frantic condition when I got home, fearing 
I might be frozen stiff . It did me good to go, even if it 
was cold; and I am making all kinds of excuses to get 
out some more. I have two reasons for this, like the 
man who had the choice of two kinds of pie. He said, 
" I will take mince-pie because I like it, and the apple- 
pie as a gentle corrective ! " . . . 

This morning I went to the Hospital, and had quite 
an ovation at the meeting. I find my popularity is gen- 
erally increased by absence, and in this case eminently 
so. I made up my mind that if I could not take my 
place there to-day, I would resign from the whole thing. 
It is a poor sort of occupation, but perhaps better than 
having nothing outside to do. I like to feel myself use- 
ful, and certainly have been deprived of this feeling a 
long time. If it ever comes back, it must be because I 
am anxious for it. . . . 

I have missed Bessie very much, and see so few peo- 
ple that I get pretty tired of my own company. Just 
now Katie came in and said, " And are you just with 
yourself? " That is my chief companionship, so is it any 
wonder I am glad of a change? Chellie's little visit was 
a real delight to me. And before I forget, I must say 
that nothing could more distinctly mark my forgiving 



406 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

spirit than my eagerness to write to thee the minute 
thy letter arrived. Here I have been watching and 
waiting and wondering if thee was ever going to think 
of me again, and every day or two saying to myself, 
* Well, I must write to Fin," and then, " No, I will not, 
either; she ought to write much oftener than she does." 
Oh, Fin, nobody knows what a sweet creature I am when 
I get attention, but neglect cuts me to the soul and chills 
my thoughts; so take warning! Be careful and show 
every atom of love thee has, and see how responsive I 
become. . . . 

Mr. Smith has just come in from an Ethical board 
meeting, and is so busy telling me about a discussion he 
had with Mr. Salter, that I must turn my mind into 
labor problems, which would soon dissipate what little 
brains I have. Mr. Smith is trying to check the tide of 
indiscriminate sympathy for the laboring classes, and 
takes every opportunity to enlighten Mr. Salter on the 
side of the capitalist, of which he is comparatively ig- 
norant. He is a theorist, but such a lovely man he 
might well be a power if he had more practical 
views. . . . 

I will send " Frances Power Cobbe " by express to- 
morrow, as I have no chance to mail it. I am sorry for 
you to have to hear Mr. C. H. next Sunday, unless he 
has improved since I heard him. He is a good citizen, 
however, and does a lot of good, and I understand 
speaks well on all municipal questions. Perhaps he has 
missed his vocation, and was meant for a politician, not 
a minister. . . . 

I am glad Helen was not lost in the drifts. Give 
my love to her, and all the rest, and reflect on the neces- 
sity of paying more attention to thy affectionate 

M. S. 



1895. 407 

For the benefit of the Homeopathic Hospital in 
Wilmington, of which I was one of the managers, we 
were about to issue a Woman's Edition of Every Even- 
ing, to be published the 13th of April. I had been ap- 
pointed Editor-in-chief, and wrote to Pattie asking her 
assistance and contributions as well as her criticisms. 
Her letters at this time relate principally to this sub- 
ject. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March, 1895. 

Thy little letter, dear Fin, would have had a better 
acknowledgment last night, but I was compelled to go 
to bed at seven o'clock, and there I stayed until late to- 
day. I am no good; but I forgot about affirmations, so 
here goes. I am the nicest, best, most capable woman, 
full of energy and untiring in every good work, faithful, 
forgiving and wise!! In case anybody disputes this, just 
deny their judgment. 

I send thee a lot of extracts, which thee must not 
lose; and please return them if thee doesn't want them 
for the paper. I am greatly interested in its success, and 
in anything I can do, will be glad to be of use. As to 
the editorship, it is in good hands; and please affirm this 
to thyself over and over until thee believes nobody could 
do it half as well. I truly think the worst part of thy 
undertaking is in selection; too much will be sent, and 
thee ought to have more than one head to keep rubbish 
out, and make everything clear, concise and for- 
cible. . . . 

I am writing against time to-day, for I hope to get 
up energy enough to hear Max O'Eell at the Century 
Club this afternoon, and a long rest has to be taken 
first. . . . 

Bess writes me from Orange that she had to go to 
bed with her bad cold, so I sent her word immediately 
to clear out all bad thoughts, if not too late. I am on 



408 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

the watch-tower for other people, if not for myself, but 
I have lately had some experience of quick retribution, 
which might convince even my unbelieving spirit. . . . 

March 24th, 1895. 

I wish thee could have heard Mr. Salter this morn- 
ing, on " Does Death End All? " Thee would have liked 
it. He must have changed his views since Mr. B. knew 
him, for he considers everything good as indestructible; 
justice, love, mercy, etc., can never die, and so far as a 
man lives out these virtues, he must be immortal. 

I suppose by this time thee is in the full tide of work. 
Do not go it too strong, but keep some repose and re- 
serve of strength. Nothing will turn out well done if 
we live too fast. I read the little text in " Finding the 
Christ," etc., and it was helpful. One never can live on 
yesterday's manna, however, and I of all others must 
renew my small strength many times in the day. It 
does me good, however, to know there is something to 
get when we go for it truly. 

LETTER TO HELEN S. GARRETT. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 4th, 1895. 

Thy second letter, dear Helen, has quite upset the 
first, and destroyed my equilibrium. I had wiped thy 
mother off my list of engagements, and made quite an- 
other for Tuesday. This can be changed, of course, but 
is thee sure that my presence is necessary, or desirable? 
Candor is "one of our chief virtues, but think we had 
better play strictly in accordance with the rules of the 
game. Nothing could be more distracting to me, were 
I " Editor-in-chief," than to have company in the house 
who would make any claim on my time. As I am not 
Editor, but only the company, I cannot think of any- 
thing much worse than to feel myself in the way, and 



1895. 409 

know the effort necessary on the part of the hostess. If 
1 am wanted simply for Monday evening or Tuesday I 
could go with a free mind, knowing the strain on the 
Editor would be short; but to land me there for a visit 
when all of Wilmington would be fighting against me is 
evidently a wild scheme. Now if the Hospital meeting 
on Monday leaves a ray of sense or a grain of strength 
in my composition, I will take my little satchel in hand 
and go down for the night, just to show that I can have 
a finger in your pie. I hope thy mother will write the 
editorial. It seems to give dignity to the thing, and 
more of a finish. 

Let me know if my plan suits thee as well as it does 
me. I would much rather make a visit when calmness 
reigns and triumph is assured. The ragged edge of sus- 
pense is as harrowing as despair, and besides, I want all 
the usual fuss that is made by you generally over 

M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 24th, 1895. 

A request has reached me from Alice for another of 
the " Woman's Edition," and having disposed of all 
mine I wonder if thee could send her one? Also a pos- 
tal from Bess, saying, " What has become of my papers? 
Not one of them has ever turned up." In consequence 
of this Anna has never had any, as I thought of course 
Bess would send hers. 

Thy little note with the various enclosures reached 
me the other day, and I was almost impelled to rush off 
to Wilmington. It was so sweet of thee to think it 
would be a relief to talk to me, even though thee had 
" talked too much." My theory is that we more often 
talk too little than too much. At least I have suffered 
more from repression than expression. It seems only 
right that what we receive we ought to pass along to 
some one else, always with judgment but never with 



410 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

stint. I have visions of what it would be if we all were 
turned inside out, and our intercourse from the interior 
instead of the reverse. I do not believe thee has 
" talked too much," for even what is not acceptable 
sometimes is beneficial. After the first sting is over, we 
sit down with a new idea which helps our growth. 

I have just had another letter from my Salem cor- 
respondent, and she is certainly charming on paper, 
whatever she may be personally. Do ask Florence when 
thee writes to her if she happens to know Miss Mary 
Saunders, of Salem, Mass. All those New England peo- 
ple are so well up in the things we ought to know, that 
I wonder if they are equally well up in the little noth- 
ings of life which make its interest and spice to me? 

I am writing this note against time, while Mr. Smith 
stands waiting to carry it with him. 

I have just received a note from Sue, asking me out 
there for luncheon to meet Theresa. I think I will go, 
if it is only to get a breath of the country. 

Our investigations on homes in the country are 
rather funny, but interesting; and we have the excite- 
ment of never knowing what will turn up next. The esti- 
mates for alterations * in our back buildings are in, and 
the sum of $460 calmly asked for the same. The knotty 
question of what is right to do and to leave undone in 
this world is always unsolved for me, except by neces- 
sity. Mr. Smith is my backer in everything, but I can- 
not waste his money any more than my own. He is too 
good to be imposed upon. 

This must go, so good-bye, my dear, and do write me 
a line now and then. 



* Some alterations were to be made in her house, and they had 
planned a summer in the country while these were going on if 
they could find a suitable place. 



1895. 411 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 29th, 1895. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, must have an answer at once, 
if it is only to thank thee for sending the Woman's 
Edition in the various directions. I had a letter from 
Lizzie Worrell acknowledging hers. She says, " It is 
needless to say both Granville and I have been absorbed 
in it, and have had more real pleasure in it together 
than we have had in anything for a long while." I am 
not half through with it yet, as I have only had a few 
minutes in the evenings to read since it came, and 
haven't time now to tell you what I think, or rather how 
I have been impressed by some of it, but I will some- 
time in the near future. 

Thee sees how your fame is spreading from pole to 
pole, and there is no knowing when it will stop. A let- 
ter from Saide this morning tells of " the coming elec- 
tion for President of the Century Club, the most popu- 
lar candidate being our Sister Fanny." Now as thee ac- 
knowledges to " a certain ambition/' it may carry thee 
farther than thee thinks, and land thee on the public 
platform, " first in war, first in peace, and first in the 
hearts of Wilmingtonians." Well, I hail the day with a 
certain ambition too, hoping that in thy flights thee may 
succeed in carrying with thee even the obscure members 
of thy family. Do get some points from Florence while 
she is with thee, — how to behave, and how to keep the 
composure needed for the position. Also do not forget 
to ask about Miss Saunders. She told me in her last that 
she would hand in her reports for the year about the 
first of May, so I have no farther claim upon her except 
in her good-natured wish expressed that " this should 
not end our correspondence," but I think it will, for I 
have already told her everything I know, and more too! 
I should never become a botanist in this way, but I am 
devoured with curiosity about her, and her cousins M. 
and L. who make up the household; and even the 



412 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

" brainless but good-natured Irish girl .who does the 
family grubbing " has an interest for me. Sue says she 
knows " she does not write to all her class as she does 
to you, and I believe she neglects them for your sake! " 
That makes me think of Sallie's comment on the 
Woman's Edition: — " Who is Mary Mather? Her arti- 
cle on the Froebel House, and yours on the Bees, were 
the best things in it! " Ha! ha! Ha! ha! Fin, I come in 
first best sometimes, in spite of editorials and the like. 
Nothing like having a partial friend to criticize the 
paper, but if thee had published " Applied Christian- 
ity " I doubt if Sallie would have approved. She is now 
deep in " Social Evolution " by Benjamin Kidd, which I 
heard discussed yesterday by Mr. Salter. I think he 
takes it with a grain of salt, so to speak, for he thor- 
oughly believes in marching ahead with every faculty, 
reason included; and in Balfour's book, as well as this, 
they do not adjust their focus to suit so-called radicals, 
but leave them to scramble in as they can. 

My mind has not been on the alert lately, or else I 
might have had some views to offer on Balfour's 
" Foundations of Belief," for Tom brought it to me a 
week or so ago. I waded in over my head at the first 
go off, and I found myself on dry land the next time, 
but it was probably not the fault of the book, but sim- 
ply my own scattered brains. Much more taking was 
the little book thee sent me of Mrs. Cady's, which came 
day before yesterday, and suited my needs for the time. 
I think I need a dose of some kind to keep up heart, but 
I might think more of myself if anybody else (but thee) 
put me on a pedestal! 

Thee would be interested in a paper Tom has had 
under lock and key for lo! these many years. He sent 
some of my writing to some English wiseacre, who gave 
his opinion freely, and Tom thinks it is remarkable. * 



* The delineation of character referred to ran as follows: The 
present writing beneath my notice indicates a calm and cheer- 



1895. 413 

Life is a queer mix, but the more I see of it the more I 
think we are about the same underneath, whatever we 
may be on top. It is the outside which often counts the 
most, unfortunately, with us all. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, May 12th, 1895. 

Well, my dear Fin, I am sure it will be a relief to 
thee to know that I cannot go to Wilmington to see the 
inauguration of officers at the Century Club. The only 
officer in whom I am interested has my sincere good 
wishes, and absolute confidence in her career. I shall be 
proud indeed if any one member of the Sellers family 
can be educated into a speaker, or made important in 
public life. The fact of thy being occupied with dress- 
makers seems so very commonplace that I fear thee is 
not giving thy whole mind to the professional duties 
which are before thee. If I were appointed to any pub- 
lic office I should neither eat nor sleep for fear I might 
lose a point. Go on in thy mad career, and mix up do- 
mestic and professional duties, and see if thy brain 
doesn't give way. 

I am writing over the heads of men working in the 
cellar, who are engaged in a heatecl discussion about the 
labor question, and I cannot keep my mind to write to 
thee. I wanted to tell thee that I shall probably go to 
Windsor next week. Tom is going over to Boston, and 
offers to escort me there, which would be very nice for 

fill disposition, alacrity of manner, and celerity of thought and 
of observation. There is clear definition, power of seizing the 
salient points of a question, and of conducting matters to a suc- 
cessful issue. Most dependable, truthful and clear-headed, the 
writer has judgment and also ideality, is capable of entering with 
interest into the feelings and schemes of others, and not so 
wrapped up in self as to be forgetful of the consideration due to 
those nearly connected. There is some self-confidence and a habit 
of directing and controlling, being accustomed to take the part of 
a leader and to guide the actions of others. 



414 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

me. I hate to go so soon, but Bessie seems to think 
" now is the only accepted time." . . . 

However, to go when you are invited is my princi- 
ple, and I find it generally works better than having my 
own preference come in. If ever I can straighten things 
out here to run while I am away, it will show the talents 
of a generalissimo. The cellar is about half excavated; 
the carpenter is shoring up the floor and nearly knock- 
ing me out of my chair; the white washer is to succeed 
them, if I can get him; and then all our plans and speci- 
fications have to be worked out for the kitchen, etc. If 
this last building could be done while I am away (all 
but the finishing) I could escape the dire confusion and 
dust and dirt, which would be most desirable. I am try- 
ing to work myself up to wanting to get out of the way, 
but in my secret soul I long to see every nail driven and 
every brick laid. . . . 

I have been all morning writing up my Hospital 
minutes, and I am tired of the position, so I will let thee 
off with a short screed this time. I hope to see thee be- 
fore I go to Windsor, for I shall probably be gone two or 
three weeks. 

I have got Mrs. Cady by heart, and quite long for 
the other numbers, not for the physical but the mental 
attitude. Let me know how thee gets through the or- 
deal to-morrow, for I shall keep thee on my heart. . . . 

Good-bye now, with love to each and all. My visit 
with you all is a sweet remembrance. 

3303 Hamilton Street, May 26th, 1895. 

This is only to inform thee and Sary, and any others 
who are interested, that I am still at home, and shall 
not start for Windsor until Wednesday or Thursday 
next. At the last minute Tom found he could not get 
off, and his escort was in part my reason for starting 
then, so we put it off one week later. . . . 



1895. 415 

Yesterday I went out to Darby with Miss Hopkins, 
and introduced her to Alice. We walked up to the 
graveyard, and into the library, and she enjoyed the 
quaintness of it all, and the meeting-house was her " de- 
light." It is a good thing sometimes to see familiar 
things with other people's eyes. I came home tired out, 
and went to bed at four o'clock for the night, in order 
to be ready for Bryn Mawr to-day, where I am engaged 
to dine with Sallie W. 

(Evening.) Well, my letter had to be left, and I 
went to Bryn Mawr, where I had a lovely visit, and took 
two dinners; one at Mr. Ely's, at noon, and the other at 
Herbert Smyth's, at 6.30, and now I have just returned 
at eight o'clock ready for bed again. I had a lovely little 
visit at Herbert's, and never saw Eleanor look as pretty. 
It was my first visit to the new house, and it certainly is 
most attractive inside. Herbert is very entertaining, and 
his guests, Mr. Perry and Miss Walker, were both very 
pleasant. I had to run from the dinner table to get in 
time for the train, and broke in upon the fine course 
dinner. . . . 

This is good-bye to you, unless some of you come up 
before Wednesday. My trunk is half packed, and I feel 
as if my visit were paid already. Good-bye now, with 
love all around. 

3303 Hamilton Street, June 13th, 1895. 

Well, Ein, I am glad I brought thee up so well that 
thee cannot neglect me without thy conscience troubling 
thee. It only shows how confidently I rely upon this 
education, that when thee did not write I began to won- 
der if my letter ever reached thee, or if I could have 
neglected the postage, etc. I positively never thought 
of neglect from thee! ! Well, I was glad to get thy let- 
ter when it came, but it greatly amused me that thee 
should think of the improvements here being completed. 
I wish thee could see it. The brick walls are done, and 



416 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

that is about all, but thee must remember there was as 
much to tear down as there is to build up. 

I go out to Millbourne every other night, and if they 
do not get tired of me shall continue to do so during 
this month of unrest. The builder assures me it will 
take them into July before it is finished. . . . 

It looks lovely there now, and I am sure thee and 
Helen would get a good welcome any Sunday, but I 
wish you could come next, when I am sure to be there. 
Do write to Carrie about this at once, for I do not think 
they expect anyone else. 

I am glad thee has thy alterations finished, and is 
in full enjoyment of the same. It must be very nice, 
and thee has a great advantage over me in having a good 
foundation to all improvements. I am always being 
haunted by the thought of throwing good money after 
bad, and while I never dwell on " Poverty Flats " for 
any length of time, yet I hate to unnecessarily waste my 
substance. I have been of many minds, but now am 
going it blind as regards space, or any summer consid- 
eration. It is all for winter, which for me is the choice 
time. Thee knows we all, as a family, like settlement, 
and summer is always unrestful, not knowing where my 
friends are, or where I am myself. My only definite plan 
is for August to Mountain Eest, but it is a far call to 
that, and many things may happen to prevent. . . . 

My Windsor visit is not even considered now, and I 
think it is wise to postpone it for this season. . . . 

I saw Frank out at Millbourne, and promised him to 
go see Edith, whom I like through and through. She 
will help Frank, I am sure, and I am so glad he went 
into business for himself. If thee gets them under thy 
wing beside, as he told me, how nice it will be. 



1895. 417 

Mountain Rest, Mohonk Lake, August 4th, 1895. 

Well, Fin, the only way to get a letter out of thee 
is to write one, but please note the difference. Thee can 
sit down in an orderly way at thy desk, and pour forth 
thy soul on deep subjects; while I must take the end of 
the bureau, and in the most uncomfortable manner tell 
the commonplace details of my surroundings. . . . 

Mountain Eest is rightly named. It is quietness it- 
self, and the views are an inspiration. We lift up our 
eyes to the hills, and gaze over the valleys, and either 
way it is beautiful. This morning we drove over to 
Lake Mohonk to church, and nobody inquired too 
closely into our motives; but certainly the ride was not 
the least of the attractions. The minister had a dis- 
course on the wise and the foolish virgins, and those who 
did not have oil in their lamps were those who went 
through life without growing, so that when the crisis 
came they were not ready for it, and had no light on 
their paths. All this was very good; but thee would 
have objected to his declaration that evil was abroad in 
the land, and bad had come to stay. I will not go into 
the subject, only it was not Christian Science. . . . 

Well, I must not linger on this; but will tell thee 
how it seemed like the gathering of the clans as one 
after another party filed in. First Fanny Mather's fam- 
ily, then the Bancroft's, with M. S. We got here Thurs- 
day afternoon, and Mary Mather gave us a welcome by 
waving an afghan from the front porch. Soon after 
Saide and Alice arrived, coming over from Albany, and 
next day Madge Hilles and her mother. There are about 
forty people in the house. A certain Miss Watts on the 
third floor is a woman of about my age, I should think, 
but three times as big. She told me her middle name 
was Ledge, and " I am just as much of a Ledge as those 
cousins of mine downstairs." These cousins are two old 
women of a very pronounced type, and it did not take 



418 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

long to see some antagonism to Miss Watts, which was 
fully reciprocated. Miss Watts has taught for thirty-six 
years, and is a great reader. She " always pays for ex- 
tra baggage on account of books." I found her por- 
ing over Newton's " Principia " in the morning, and 
reading veriest trash in the afternoon. She does a great 
deal of fancy-work too, and is never idle a minute. Mary 
Mather says she is unbending to me in a most marvel- 
ous manner, as it is not her way to be genial. We have 
had already some deep discussions on Woman Suffrage, 
which she supports and cousins Ledge hate and despise. 
She has been intimate with Mrs. James Gibbons and 
others of the Hopper family, and she cites them as ex- 
amples of good housekeeping not being incompatible 
with advanced views. Cousins Ledge also deprecate the 
higher education of woman " as likely to unfit them for 
matrimony, which is woman's true mission/' We had it 
hot and heavy on this subject, and as not one of us was 
married comment is unnecessary. I make up my mind 
every time I go to a new place not to judge of the people 
I meet till I have known them for a while, but instinc- 
tively I do it, and then have to find much more good 
than I at first suspected. It is not an exciting crowd 
here, and, as Sellers Bancroft would say, " a set of tab- 
bies." No young people at all, excepting Wif and Alice. 
After all, Sellers could not come; and at first Annie 
thought she would be miserable about it, but since com- 
ing she has concluded to enjoy herself. I have been 
reading aloud to her " The Bonnie Briar Bush," with 
which she is delighted. Out of her room is a little bal- 
cony, where we sat, and out of Miss Watts's in the story 
above is another. She was sitting there serenely knit- 
ting; but I hardly had begun when she slammed 
down her knitting, dragged her chair with great 
noise into her room, shut down the window with 
marked emphasis, and even bolted the shutters. 



1895. 419 

I have since learned from the Mather family that 
she and the Ledges are alike opposed to any read- 
ing aloud, and as they seem to be in every part 
of the house it is difficult to get a corner where we may 
do as we choose. Thee knows the reading aloud is one 
of the rare opportunities we have of enjoying things 
together. I read this morning to Sary in " Lorna 
Doone," which, strange to say, she has never read be- 
fore. If I were long with Miss Watts my mind would 
be quite lifted above thy appreciation, and, as it is, my 
knowledge of botany is the source of great amusement 
in the party. After relating that little anecdote about 
the coal-men, they always call me the Botaneer. Not 
knowing the first thing about it, all kinds of specimens 
are gathered for me, in good faith by some, but by 
others merely to show my ignorance. 

When we came it was very sweet to find in each of 
our rooms a lovely bunch of sweet peas, a gift from Mrs. 
Goddard, the wife of the proprietor. He has a very 
stylish name, J. Irving Goddard, but nothing could look 
more unlike it. His wife is a sweet, pretty little woman, 
and nothing could be kinder than they both are. Milk 
any hour of the day or night, and " if you want any- 
thing, just tap at this door." The food is very good, and 
well cooked; and Annie Bancroft says is much better 
than at most high-priced hotels. No attempt at style; 
but then, being in the midst of nature, this seems the 
most appropriate. 

I still cling to my first love for Lake Mohonk, and 
cannot say with Fanny Mather, " If they were the same 
price, I should prefer Mountain Best." Now Lake Mo- 
honk is the head of things, and you feel it immediately. 
Everything is in perfection, and all conveniences as a 
matter of course. The mails all go there first, and wan- 
der around here afterward; and thee knows I have a 
fancy for being at the fountain head. We have almost 



420 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

perished with the cold, but it is getting warm now, and 
I am sure we shall have as much heat as we want. Now 
I wish thee were here for a week. It would make it twice 
as nice for me; but I am like Annie Bancroft, — I shall 
ii ot pine, but make up my mind to enjoy what is left. 

Do not forget thee has to write to me, and send me 
some reading matter. I have hung on to the end of the 
bureau as long now as I can, but am not half done. 
Love to everybody. 

Mountain Rest, Mohonk Lake, August 18th, 1895. 

Sary has just informed me, dear Fin, that I must 
write to thee, which I am nothing loth to do; but why 
she should see my duty so clearly instead of her own is 
for thee to find out. Each day I have had thee on my 
mind, wondering whether thee has yet found thy escort, 
and " the way open " to go to Boston. 

The reports of the weather in your region are far 
from encouraging, while even here it is quite as hot as 
we like. Fortunately for us there is always a breeze, and 
we know it does not blow out of sewers or over smelly 
gutters. If I could bottle it up I would go off home 
with enough for us both. My plan was to stay here three 
weeks, which will end next Thursday; but unless I hear 
the thermometer comes out of the nineties I shall com- 
pel myself to stay another week, since I do not want to 
throw away what good I have gained. I walked all the 
way to Mohonk one day last week with Saide and Wif 
Bancroft. It was a two-mile stretch, and when I found 
myself not so very tired it seemed a decent thing to write 
a note to Dr. Adele Gleason, and tell her how her 
prophecy was fulfilled. That very night (and " in con- 
sequence," Sary says) I had a high old time with a spell 
of cholera morbus, that left me rather like a rag, and not 
so sure of myself. Since then I have " kept near shore/' 
and have had neither walks nor rides. 



1895. 421 

My industrious habits are developed to an abnormal 
degree. I am working away like a galley-slave at a table- 
cover, and refusing to read aloud or make myself agree- 
able in any way. Sary never likes me to have any work, 
and I believe thee also shares this feeling. If it had not 
been for my table-cover, thee would have had a letter 
before this, but I would have had only pleasure instead 
of the stern joy in duty done. This is Sunday, and of 
course " I don't love thee more than God and the Virgin 
Mary," * but at least I cannot work on my table-cover. 

They all went to church this morning, getting " a 
free ride " over to Mohonk, which I think savors of 
bribery and corruption, and i" was much too virtuous. 
This afternoon they have gone back again to hear a cer- 
tain Mrs. Hall (the wife of a Scotch minister) read the 
" Bonnie Briar Bush." I really wanted to go, but had 
not the face after refusing to go to church. It takes a 
great deal of moral fibre to be consistent. Apart from 
this I am still nursing myself. 

Sary has kindly consented to read Celia Thaxter's 
Letters to me, which I did not expect to care for, and 
she said she " would not cast pearls," etc., but finally 
got me so interested she had to, finish the book to me. 
Now she is reading the " People's Life of their Queen," 
beginning when Victoria was a child. She seems to be 
so natural and such a homey sort of a person that roy- 
alty is wasted on her. 

Yesterday I was really forced out of my selfishness 
about my table-cover by finding that a certain Miss P. 
could not use her eyes, and her sister had gone home, 
and she had no one to read to her; so I finished " Jan 
Vedder's Wife," which they had begun together. Miss 

*A quotation from Anne Garrett when she was a little girl of 
four or five. When asked if she loved her grandfather, true to 
her Irish nurse's teaching she gave the above reply, which her 
Aunt Pattie treasured and quoted. 



422 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

P. is quite an airy individual, ready to be a leader in 
anything, and generally the heroine of her own stories. 
She is quite interesting, and a sort of study to me. I 
always like to see what will happen next when people 
are made up so differently from my own pattern. I 
think I told thee about Miss Watts and the Ledges. 
She [Miss Watts] is a liberal Unitarian, and they are 
Episcopalians. They do not agree excepting on one 
point. They simply hate to have reading aloud; what 
was the feeling of the house therefore the other night 
when Miss Watts was found calmly reading aloud to me. 
Well, she found the shoe on the other foot, that was 
all! I get credited with all Sary's bright sayings and 
funny stories, as she evidently doesn't know us apart, 
and, mixed with my own individual charms, thee need 
not wonder that she is fascinated thereby. When she 
said, " I was telling that funny story of yours the other 
night, but I couldn't do it justice," my heart misgave me 
lest she should ask me to repeat it; so I said, "Now, 
Miss Watts, you do not know whom you are talking to." 
She looked at me a minute and said, " Why, certainly I 
do; you are Miss Sellers," and Saide says her identity is 
not recognized at all. Yesterday we were both in her 
room while she taught Sary a certain stitch, and I read 
aloud a story in the August Harper, called " The Little 
Room," by Madeline Yale Wynne. Miss Watts pro- 
nounced it " trash," and I am not sure but it is. Any- 
how, thee read it, and see what thee thinks. It has 
caused so much discussion among the people in the 
house that I was finally appointed to write to her, which 
I have just done; and if I do not forget it will enclose a 
copy to thee. Perhaps thee may remember how fasci- 
nated Sellers Bancroft was with her when she was about 
sixteen, and he not much older. Their after life drifted 
them far apart, and would not read like a romance. She 
married unhappily and was divorced, and now I believe 



1895. 423 

earns her living by her pen. This " Little Room " is 
written well, whether it has any sense in it or not. I 
enclosed an envelope stamped, and we will see if she 
answers it. . . . 

Bess wanted to know where I was, that she might 
send me two papers on mind and matter. Either way, 
" never mind " and " no matter " it will be with me I 
fear, as my mind refuses to go into deep things. The 
papers thee sent me I enjoy very much, and every after- 
noon I have a quiet little time with them alone. It is 
remarkable how I can read the same things over again, 
and not find it out until I am nearly through. They do 
me good, however, and make me more patient with 
things that I do not understand — and cannot. It is 
curious how different minds are; each time the people 
go to church they discuss the sermons when they come 
home, and I find no two see just alike. It is therefore 
not to be expected that I shall agree with anybody, and 
I generally do not. 

I am quite charmed with Madge Hilles, she is so 
natural; it is refreshing. It keeps me up to my best, I 
can tell thee, Fin, to float serenely through the quick- 
sands by which I am surrounded. I suppose I am a 
pretty rough specimen; at least I feel so, in this slush of 
sweetness. 

Well, I cannot go on writing forever, and I am sure 
thee must be tired; and I must go out and see the sunset. 
How I wish thee were here to walk with me, and see the 
exquisite valleys like gardens laid at the foot of these 
hills. I invited Tom to come up here, and then rather 
took it back, for I am not at all sure he would like it; 
although he is adaptable enough. Perhaps it is because 
I was afraid they would not like him. However, now I 
am going to let things work out for themselves; but 
home will draw me back pretty soon, I think. My nar- 



424 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

row horizon there somehow unfits me for the world of 
people. Sary is really delightful to everybody. 

Now, good-bye, dear Fin, with love to every creature 
that belongs to thee. I have thought a great deal about 
Edith, and hope she will be fixed among you when next 
I go to Wilmington. Let me have a word from thee, 
and tell me thy plans if thee has any. If not, I will 
make one, which please put down in thy engagement 
book: Go to see thy ever aff. M. S. 

COPY OF LETTEK TO MRS. WYNNE. 
Mountain Rest, Mohonk Lake, August 17th, 1895. 

My Dear Mrs. Wynne: 

I am authorized by the summer residents of the 
above " Mountain Rest House " to ask you what you 
mean by the " Little Boom?" Some say it is an 
allegory; some, less credulous, call it " trash "; some say 
it is a relation of the " Lady and the Tiger "; and 
others, recognizing how the pictures of childhood and 
youth finally merge into the prosaic, are of the opinion 
that it is nearly allied to Mrs. Browning's " Lost 
Bower." 

With each and all interpretations it has thrown the 
a Mountain Resters " into wild discussion, confusion, 
and dismay. They in a body now call upon you to " rise 
to explain! " Personally I am not willing to think it 
means nothing. Being a daughter of the " Yale Lock," 
it ought to show up its mysteries, and break down all 
unbelief. 

I recall you one afternoon in my old home near Phil- 
adelphia, when you were perhaps about sweet sixteen, 
old enough to fascinate a young nephew of mine, and 
young enough to be very amusing to us grown-ups. We 
walked in the woods back of the house and down by the 
creek, and I was greatly impressed with your eagerness 



1895. 425 

to secure a certain " little green bug for Iky Davis. " 
This must have been in the time of the u Little Boom," 
certainly not of the China Closet. If the " Bower " of 
your romance has not slipped out of sight altogether, 
you will recognize the impatience with which old and 
young alike refuse to have the house burned down with 
the mystery unsolved. 

By order of the " Mountain Hesters." 
Yours very truly, 

M. Sellers. 

LETTER FROM MADELINE Y. WYNNE. 

Durfield, Mass., August 20th, 1895. 

My Dear Miss Sellers: 

Every life has its " Little Room," its " Lost Bower," 
its " China Closet," and other hidden places; but not 
often are the echoes so pleasant as those awakened by 
your note. 

I remember each detail of my visit to Philadelphia, 
and each and every friend I met and made; and I feel 
grateful if at this late date any word of mine, written or 
printed, can give you pleasure. What of the " Little 
Room? " I like all your varying suggestions, and I will 
add that of the editor of one of the magazines, who said 
it seemed to him to require very different guessing from 
that employed in the " Lady and Tiger " problem. It 
seemed to be an example of the different way that dif- 
ferent people looked at the same thing; thus Matthew, 
Mark, Luke, and John each told Gospel truth, but their 
variations were different. I, too, have a little theory on 
the subject which I have embodied in a sequel. I have 
put it away for a week in a closed room, that I may read 
it with fresh eyes when I see it again. If I approve of it, 
and the publishers approve, you will see it in print, I 
hope before your interest has died out; and so you will 



426 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

i 

please tell my good unknown friends (except those who 
call it "trash") that they must be patient for a little; 
and if they do not like my sequel each one must write 
one for himself, and for others. You might have a de- 
lightful evening full of sequels, and then you might 
send them to me. To you, my dear Miss Sellers, I will 
say that if my sequel does not before long appear in 
print, I will send you the manuscript to read in thanks 
for your kind letter. 

With cordial greetings, 

Madeline Y. Wynne. 

LETTER TO HELEN GAERETT. 

Mountain Rest, Mohonk Lake, August 21st, 1895. 

Thy letter, dear Helen, was most welcome, and all its 
news handed around. Thee must be a perfect siren to 
have persuaded thy mother into such a trip. I supposed 
she just missed my letter. When she comes back on 
Friday she will want to know the result of my letter. 
Her answer came to-day, and it is so charming that I 
will enclose a copy. Please keep both letters for me, as 
it is quite interesting to keep them together. I was 
thinking perhaps Uncle William would like to read the 
correspondence, as her father used to be such a friend 
of his. ... I have been reading " Friend Olivia " aloud 
to Aunt Sadie and Miss Piatt, and they never gave me 
a chance to go on with my little table-cover, much less 
to write letters. It is only when they decide it is best 
that I can leave off. . . . 

I feel quite like a traveled lady now. Walks and 
rides over these beautiful hills have given me a some- 
what wider horizon than I get in my little rut at home. 
My next outing is quite experimental, but Mr. Smith 
wants me to take a cruise in their new boat, the " Jul- 
nar," and proposes the first of September for the trip. 
I have invited Edith Fuller to go with me, and how 



1895. 427 

much or little we may enjoy it remains to be seen. After 
that the best part of the year begins for me, when I do 
not feel the lack of grounds around my house, and when 
everyone else is also fixed in his home, and a general 
sense of settlement and contentment reigns. 

Aunt Sadie and Alice, and indeed all thy friends, 
send love ; and I am always " the one thing," as old Bar- 
ney used to say. 

1500 Broome Street, Wilmington, Del., Oet. 22d, 1895. 

Well, Fin, I will never let you dear stay-at-homes go 
away when I am here; it is too lonesome, and reminds 
me of the story Alice Pearson told me once about one 
of her cousins coming to make a visit, when her mother 
was away. She stuck it out as long as she could, and 
then went off home, saying, " The house is too big 
when Aunt Alice is away." Now I am not used to being 
in Wilmington without you, so do not do this any more. 
We think of you at Washington, and know you are hav- 
ing a lovely time, but we can match you in that. Sary 
and I are enjoying each other, and everything else. 
Yesterday morning we started oft about eleven o' clock, 
and called at Mrs. Hilles's on our way out to Clifton. We 
had a nice call; saw Mrs. Shearman, Mrs. Hilles, and 
Coco, and each was cordial and agreeable. By-the-by, 
why doesn't the Creator make everybody as pretty as 
Mrs. Shearman? I never could reconcile myself to the 
incubus of ugliness, which does not seem a fair arrange- 
ment in the start of life, and is always more or less a 
handicap to one's career. 

Well, we went out to Shellpot, and walked up the 
creek, (or down, rather), and finally after much scram- 
bling reached the mansion-house. Saide immortalized 
the trip by getting into a mess with one of her feet, and 
the odor was anything but pleasant as she walked by my 
side. She had to retire into the toilet-room as soon as 



428 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

we got there, and called for cologne, bay-rum, or any- 
thing to put her into good odor with the family. 

Amalie looked her prettiest, and was very entertain- 
ing on the subject of her husband's wilfulness. ... I 
said, " Well, Amalie, I have always thought there are 
worse things in the world than not being married at 
all." She told about a discussion they had the day be- 
fore on the subject of a fire in the grate, and a burnt 
hole in the new matting. She was very funny, and I 
doubt if William himself could have been as agreeable 
as was her description of him. My parting words were, 
" Tell William we had a lovely time without him." 

When we got home we both collapsed!, and I began to 
feel the effects of the long walk. Remembering, how- 
ever, the promised excitement of the evening,* I braced 
up when Harry came to tea. After that I took off my 
dress skirt, and put on my tights, and was said to pre- 
sent a very jaunty appearance in my short petticoat and 
Clem's hat. Chell assisted in the performance, which 
took place on Gilpin Avenue, and what with Harry on 
one side, and Chell on the other, I managed to stick on 
the saddle, and wabble up and down the street several 
times. They were both most encouraging in their com- 
mendations. . . . 

This day is devoted to the sofa for me, and whether 
this sense of goneness comes from the walk or the ride 
remains to be found out. I am sustained by a fresh in- 
voice of cider, and we are going in for a good time with 
reading. We find " Sonya Kovalevsky " very interest- 
ing, and as she was a famous mathematician, thee may 
see how instructive to poor M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 17th, 1895. 
Well, Fin, I must be " high and mighty " sometimes 
to make the balance, for my low spots are darker and 

* First lesson on riding a bicycle. 



1895. 429 

deeper and more frequent than they ought to be. I 
have been in bed all day, and have just come downstairs 
at five o'clock, very far from " high and mighty/' I am 
glad thee is strong enough not to talk about thy trou- 
bles, which I admit sometimes emphasizes them, but not 
always. I thoroughly believe in ventilation, but find- it 
not always feasible or in the least satisfactory. Mean, 
nasty little things, such as mine have been of late, need 
not be ventilated, but they are demoralizing all the 
same. I have gone under, but am coming up again in 
spite of reading Miss Phelps's last book, " A Singular 
Life "; very well written and vivid, but too sad for my 
conditions. It is a good temperance story, and would 
suit Alice Smyth or any of the White Kibboners. All 
the denials and affirmations are mechanical helps per- 
haps in hours of temptation, but I do not find them of 
much account to me. I must begin inside, and work 
out, instead of the reverse. I went to Miss Dyer's open 
talk the other day, which was very helpful, and I was 
glad I went, but I am a pretty tough customer, Fin, 
often resembling the proverbial duck's back. . . . 

I could not pose for more of a Mental Scientist than 
I truly am. Thee knows I have a faculty for seeing the 
truth for other people, but not always for myself; and 
so I am much oftener in a slough than on the heights. 
I wish I could get hold of Helen Wilmans's law of at- 
traction in the way of " abundant supply," though I 
dimly see how it might work. Just now I am too poor 
to deny it, but then I see where I might be richer by 
constant affirmation. It is fear of coming to the last 
penny rather than acknowledging that this is not the 
last, which works confusion. Oh, Fin, I am very wise, 
very good, very strong, and very everything that is nice, 
if I could only let myself be, but just now I am grop- 
ing. . . . 



CHAPTEK XXI. 

1896. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 3d, 1896. 

Well, Fin, thy letter, however welcome, emphasized 
my bad manners in not writing to thee after my lovely 
visit. However, I am sure thee will strike the balance 
with my known principles on this subject, and excuse 
the delay in my acknowledgments. I enjoyed every min- 
ute of my visit except the last, when I had to go and 
leave our work undone. * I was so interested that I 
hated to think thee could get along without me, but I 
know too well " how clever you all are in Wilmington " 
to think thee could miss me much. My own small col- 
lection seems very meagre after the wealth of thine, but 
it is quite as much as I can manage alone. I simply 
hate to go at it after thy exciting society. The next 
morning after I got home, after my trunk was unpacked, 
my lovely Christmas presents arranged, and Mona Lisa 
hung in the parlor (where it looks lovely), I sauntered 
down to see Bess, and was much surprised to find thee 
and Chellie had been there. Then thy letter came ex- 
plaining why. . . . 

I am so glad you saw Bessie's home at the Bartram, 
which to my mind is quite ideal, without care and yet 
the embodiment of luxury. Whether she will find rest 
for her mind there, is yet to be seen. . . . 

Yesterday I went in to Miss Dyer's lecture, which I 
very much enjoyed, and afterward Bess and I did a little 
shopping together. I got a hat for bicycle riding, and 

* She had been helping me to classify my newspaper cuttings, 
using the card catalogue, which was most interesting to both. 



1896. 431 

used it this morning for the first time. Whether it was 
that, or my short skirt, or my new gaiters, I cannot tell; 
but certainly I got along better, and was much congratu- 
lated by Bess. She took great pains to get a certain 
" Austin " to teach me (as the only good teacher there), 
but he said directly, " Why, you've got it; you can ride! " 
This made me think of dear little Christopher, and I 
said to myself, as he did, " Now I've got it "; which en- 
couraged me very much. Notwithstanding all this I 
ran into a wall and afterward into a pillar, and knocked 
one woman nearly off her bicycle, but still " I've got it," 
thanks to Chellie; it was she that taught me all I know. 
Next week I hope to go oftener, and learn to mount and 
dismount. Bess has a beautiful suit, and is all enthusi- 
asm, and rides well; but I will get there too if all goes 
well. ... 

We had a perfect time at King Arthur's court, and 
Tom wanted to get tickets for to-night, but I absolutely 
refused unless he would go in the " peanut gallery/ 5 
which he wouldn't; and so we stay at home and read 
Stevenson. Steve and Bess are going in that democratic 
way, and I think it is very sensible. We have a partial 
strike on to-day, but I hope common sense will prevail. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 13th, 1896. 
My dear little Fin, how are the mighty fallen! I 
cannot have thee ill and suffering without a pang, and 
I must know all about it. When Sary's letter came this 
morning, my first impulse was to get into the cars im- 
mediately and look after thee myself (as lang syne in 
typhoid fever) ; but second thoughts being best, I am at 
home on this miserable wet day. Now with the new 
thought I have immediately traced out the origin of 
that illness, and fully believe the strain of an unnatural 
position (as President of the Century) is having its re- 
venges now. There are many ways of being useful, but 
it does not seem to belong to our family to sit in high 



432 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

places; but we get our fine work in when others would 
neglect it. Now just make up thy mind to get out of 
this strain, and resolve that a certain amount of rest is 
a necessity, even to the most vigorous. . . . No amount 
of work can hurt thee, but an unnatural strain must. 

Yesterday I went to take luncheon with P. B. and 
D. N. We had a regular seance. She is in the depths 

(or heights) of Mental Science, and P can hardly 

restrain her own enthusiasm. It all seemed quite weird 
to me, and it was very much against my instincts to 
make it a topic of conversation. It seems quite too indi- 
vidual and sacred to be tossed about as we were doing; 
but still I am not converted, as they are perhaps. 

Now this note is not to discuss this subject, but to 
suggest that when thee is able thee shall turn thy back 
on all engagements, and come up here for rest and im- 
provement. I promise to be my nicest (whatever that 
may be) and to humor thy every whim until thee gets 
well enough to bear a healthful opposition. Do think it- 
over, and in the meantime get Helen to write to me and 
relieve my mind, for I really cannot have thee sick. 
Just get well as fast as possible, and come up here so I 
may put thee through a course. . . . 

I had a lovely visit from Sary, and miss her good 
company. 

Tom and I went to the bicycle school yesterday, and 
he formally presented me with the new Columbia, which 
is a beauty. He is still at a loss what wheel to get for 
himself, and Bessie is alike distracted, but I am fixed and 
contented. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 23d, 1896. 

It seems as if March wanted to do its worst this year, 
and simply fools us with the name of Spring. To-night 
is the last of our Symphony concerts, and I very much 
fear I will not get there. All of Furness's readings were 
missed while I was fast in bed. I think this ought to 



1896. 433 

cure Tom of getting tickets for me, for now the course 
is over and I have only used three out of my book of 
ten. 

There is something wrong about my many failures 
to' " come up to the scratch/' so I will not make any 
more plans, not even to get a cape made or a visit en- 
joyed, I will write again when things are more settled 
in my mind, but do not put thyself out to have the sew- 
ing girl for me. On Saturday next I have to be home 
anyway to attend to some Hospital business, and it is 
gradually dawning upon me that when the way is not 
clear I may just as well believe that things are arranged 
for me; — not always as I like, but perhaps the best in 
the end. 

Nothing could be more beautiful than this snow as 
it is falling — " the stiff rails " (across the way) " soft- 
ened to swansdown," and the children are shouting with 
delight. My delight would be to go out and sweep snow, 
which pleasure I inherited from Father. I can see him 
now sweeping off that east porch, and when I expostu- 
lated, " wishing it were twice as long." It seems a long 
while since I knew anything about the Millbourne folks; 
they keep to themselves, " and so do we all of us." I 
hear there is to be a grand boulevard from Cobb's creek 
on the State road up to Eosemont, and that may mean 
something for us; but do not build thy hopes too high, 
or burst out into any wild extravagance on that pros- 
pect. I only saw it in the paper, and even the papers are 
not hampered by the truth. 

Is it not sickening the way our Congress is behav- 
ing? Their object seems to be "how not to do it," for 
business stands still while they try to get into a mess 
with other countries, and now their shameful behavior 
to Mr. Bayard fills me with despair. My only hope is 
that with their long rope they will hang themselves, and 
a third party may arise to save the country. How little 



434 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

we can see into the future! Well, things have to get 
pretty bad with nations, as well as with individuals, be- 
fore they can hear the bells ring " Turn again Whitting- 
ton, Lord Mayor of London." Something must come 
out of darkness and despair as well as out of wilful bad- 
ness, and I am willing to believe that the Lord knows 
when the blow is to be struck which will bring principle 
out ahead of politics, and faith out of failures. 

Write me a line when thee feels like it, f*x I am al- 
ways the same M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 18th, 1896. 

This is to remind thee, dear Fin, of thy engagement 
to hear Hamilton Gibson next week. Tuesday, Wednes- 
day, and Thursday are his days, and I wish to assist in 
the improvement of thy mind. If this weather leaves a 
shred of mortality, we shall enjoy the lectures, I know; 
but when I went up in the third story just now I put up 
a prayer for cooler weather when thee comes. 

As usual the heat finds me quite unprepared for it, 
and I look at my wardrobe wondering why I spend time 
and money on thick clothes. I went to town yesterday 
in a shirt-waist, and felt rather rowdy without gloves, 
which were simply an impossibility. Tom has just come 
home in a drip, which is not according to his West 
Indian tendencies. Even the bicycles fail to attract, and 
they stand idle like their owners. On Friday morning, 
however, we had a fine ride of about eight miles before the 
world of people were up and in our way. We went up 
the river on the East Park, and came down on the West ; 
but by the time we reached home the sun was getting 
in its fine work, and we were glad of the shaded house. 
My blood was at boiling point, which was the fault of 
the temperature, not of the bicycle. 

Now that thee has made the choice of no longer be- 
ing President of the Century Club, I give my full con- 



1896. 435 

sent and approval of thy learning the bicycle. The 
wabbly stage dishonors a president, but will not be 
noticed in thy private capacity. 

This week has been a very full one for me, and I be- 
lieve I never wrote to thee after my sweet little visit. 
ChelhVs coming seemed to put it out of my head, and 
then the Hospital meeting, etc. Also the dress-maker. 
I have never yet found time to copy my minutes or 
write Hospital letters, much less private ones. Ever TT 
deficiency I lay to the weather, and so must thee. The 
only thing for thee to remember is Hamilton Gibson, 
and that promised visit to thy expectant 

M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, May 18th, 1896. 

In a sweet little letter from Sary this morning, I find 
there is a doubt about thy going out as a delegate to 
Louisville, which gives me a chance to put in my little 
say. I am very anxious that thee and Helen shall join 
our party (of two) to England and Scotland. We are 
figuring things out, and find it will not be as expensive 
as we feared, and I think you will miss the opportunity 
of your lives if you do not go with us. Please think it 
over. Our intention is to start in July, returning in 
September. . . . 

It is simply amusing to find myself planning for such 
a trip when in my secret soul I see less than twenty 
dollars in my bank account. If something doesn't hurry 
up and respond, I shall have to be bailed out of the sta- 
tion-house. 

We rode on our wheels yesterday morning to Darby 
via Millbourne. The folks were all away. Carrie is un- 
der the care of a doctor in New York, and Sadie is with 
her for a few weeks. Millbourne seemed very empty 
with Carrie not there. We had a lovely ride, and I spent 
the day with Alice, while Tom went on to the Yacht 



436 THE STOET OF A LIFE. 

Club. Then returning he stopped for me, and we again 
rested at Millbourne, and gathered some flowers, which 
decorated our steeds and attracted much attention. 
Now this was a ride of sixteen miles, so doesn't thee 
think I am to he commended? 

Tom proposed some time ago to ask thee and Helen 
to go with us, because he thought it would make it more 
enjoyable for me. Anyhow, think it over. . . . 

We went in to see Maude Hoyt the other night, and 
mapped out a program, which will give us quite a 
little trip before we reach Edinburgh. . . . We expect 
to take passage on one of the ships of the American 
Transport Line, eleven days at sea, and the round trip 
costing about $100 each; so now I give thee all the 
points we have yet made, and am open to suggestions 
for anything better. Unless some other lions crop up 
in our way, we will follow out our program with or 
without company. 

I write this in a flying hurry just as things come up- 
permost, and thee must sift it out for thyself, and un- 
derstand all that is left unsaid. 

'3303 Hamilton Street, June 10th, 1896. 

Well, my dear Fin, I suppose thee and Helen are 
relieved of all uncertainty, suspense, and indecision; 
but you have passed these conditions over to me, and I 
am one moment ready to give up the whole trip, and the 
next determined not to let all these discouragements 
influence me. 

Your letters were forwarded to me at Harrisburg, 
where I stayed until last evening; and all the way on 
the home journey my mind was submerged. I could 
not think, and yet could not stop my thoughts from 
traveling back into what might have been. I schooled 
myself not to depress Tom by my depression, but found 
him undaunted by any of these things. He had opened 



1896. 437 

your letters by my request, and read enough to find your 
decision; and not wasting himself in vain regrets, he had 
seen Miss K., and fixed the matter with her. . . . 

While I was in Harrisburg I read a little story by 
Edward Everett Hale called " Hands Off," showing how 
much harm one may do by mixing oneself in with God's 
plans, and trying to turn their drift. It is well written, 
and convincing in the way of scriptural history, but 
when it comes into my private life it seems to me I 
might be allowed a choice. 

Well, it is all fixed now that we sail on July 18th, 
trusting to luck to getting back before October, at which 
time we had to take our return passage. . . . 

I told thee I had made up my mind to be content 
whatever your decision might be, but I find myself very 
discontented. I have lost so much sleep over this mat- 
ter that I am quite used up physically, and so my mental 
keeps at low ebb. . . . 

On Monday I should have been here to attend the 
Hospital meeting, by find my work laid out by a lot of 
writing left for me. I am just on the point of giving 
up my position there on account of my eyes, but am al- 
ways hoping they will be better; and already I have too 
little to do. It does not do for me to look forward to 
next winter, fearing a duplicate of this last one, but 
again I must say, " Hands Off." 

I am glad you had the grace to be disappointed about 
our trip, but that does not seem to mend the matter to 
me. We are as much averse to October 8th for return- 
ing as you could be, and only took it as better to have 
something secured, lorn says it will not suit him at all 
to stay so late, but he will attend to that matter the 
minute we get over there, hoping for some passage in 
September. As to your coming over afterward, it would 
be very nice and consoling to me, but I refuse to let my 
mind be upset with any more hopes in the matter. I 



438 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

will take what comes, and be thankful if I can. If at 
the last moment either thee or Helen finds it possible 
to go, my stateroom has still the lounge unoccupied, to 
which I invite your consideration. It is all I can do to 
keep my " Hands Off " in this matter, for it was cer- 
tainly an ideal party as I made it. Now we will see how 
it turns out without my good management. 

Give my love to all your dear people, up and down 
the street, and on Gilpin avenue. I am very much im- 
pressed with your happy community, and long may it 
wave. 

3303 Hamilton Street, June 15th, 1896. 

. . . Tom and I have just returned from a lovely 
ride in the park. We met Kate and Chris, who ride as 
to the manner born. How does thee come on with the 
bicycle, or has thee left it for a higher ambition? Thee 
can write papers about Louisville, and thee must not ex- 
pect to do everything. 

Tom is wildly anxious for us to get off on our trip, 
and I try to be enthusiastic, but somehow the cream of 
the joke is gone for me. I hope you do not expect me to 
forgive you for backing out of our ideal party, for even 
my amiability has its limits. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, June 22d, 1896. 

Next Saturday Tom goes off on his annual cruise, 
and I had figured it out that the following week I would 
spend partly with thee, for I think it will probably be 
the last chance I have before sailing, and I certainly 
wish to see my dear sisters, etc., etc., before putting 
such a distance between us. 

Thy words of wisdom sink deep into my soul, and 
philosophy would also teach me to be satisfied with our 
plans, and I sincerely hope they are all right. It does 
not suit me to have such a long wait before starting. 



1896. 439 

Heaven itself would be made more attractive by a quick 
summons, and no preparation. 

3303 Hamilton Street, July 11th, 1896. 

It seems as if my manners are vitiated by the ups 
and downs of this European trip. Be that as it may, my 
thoughts have been with you continually since I left you. 
I hope the girls are both home, so the circle may be com- 
plete in my mind before I go. It was a sweet little visit 
to each and all, but I did miss Chellie and Anne. I am 
sorry I could not be home to hear their thrilling re- 
citals, for I cannot forget how we used to hang on every 
word when we were young, which at times does not seem 
so far away. The other day I came across a few old let- 
ters which have somehow escaped my destructive tend- 
ency. When I read them, it seems not less than five 
hundred years ago; but I will enclose them and thee can 
judge. I have tried to do my duty faithfully by leav- 
ing no personal letters behind, but if they crop up please 
destroy them. 

I have appointed thee one of my executors, so thy 
judgment is largely depended on. The other one is 
John, and my will is certainly not entirely satisfactory 
to the writer; however, it may be fought over by my 
heirs!! 

I wanted very much to write it over, but I really 
could not give a free mind to it, neither could I use my 
eyes so long; and the principle thing I have to leave is 
love, love to each and all. It seems as if I had not suf- 
ficiently shown this, but one gets careless about ex- 
pression, and much is left to be understood. There is 
a sixth sense to be cultivated, I am sure, and when this 
is developed it will be better than the X-rays, because 
the spirit will be seen back of all its halting expressions, 
and beyond its inefficient understanding of others. 
There is no end to the good in each one if we could only 



440 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

believe in it and bring it out. This is not written in 
the spirit of good-bye, but in a general conviction that 
I might be much nicer than I am, and maybe will be if 
I live long enough. Just now I seem to be living from 
hand to mouth, so to speak, just a minute at a time. 
There have been so many changes in my program that 
I positively do not know where I am. 

Tom convinced me that it was not worth while to 
depend on anybody on this trip but our own two selves. 
He was satisfied, and wanted me to be so, too. After 
another letter from Miss H. asking him to still hold the 
berth, and one to me conveying the information that it 
looked doubtful whether she could go, I was suddenly 
translated into the spirit of " don't care," and now no- 
body can disturb my serenity. I am quite lifted up by 
this heavenly patience and calm, and do not know my- 
self!! The only thing I can think of to make me per- 
fectly content is for thee to send me some of Betty's 
rusks, which I can gnaw at on the voyage. If it is not 
too much trouble for her, or thee, I would really like 
this, and I wish I had one now. . . . 

I wish somebody could tell me what to take, and 
what to leave behind, — a little trunk, a big trunk, or a 
valise; thin clothes, or thick, or both; one bonnet or two; 
hat or hood for the vessel; and, in short, give me some 
sense, which I certainly have not now. 

This must bring thy vigorous mind to my relief by 
a letter at once, or a call or visit later in the week. 
Please make some sense of what I have written, for I 
cannot in this hurry to-day. 

Steamship Manitoba, July 28th, 1896. 

Ever since five o'clock this morning we have been 
in sight of land, and this is the first minute I have had 
to write to the dear ones at home. Everybody else on 
board has written a little every day, — I alone am so 



1896. 441 

busy from morning till night that there is no chance for 
writing! It seems as if yon must all know what a perfect 
time we have had, without my taking the trouble of 
saying a word. To go back to the beginning, when we 
sat on the wharf at the foot of Houston street, in New 
"York, watching the passengers assemble to wait for the 
tender, seems almost impossible. We studied them all, 
wondering how we would like them; and, as usual, I 
picked out my favorites, who have remained the same 
to the end of the voyage! It is quite out of the question 
to give a picture to your minds as they appeared to 
mine, but in the early gray of the morning they all 
looked pretty seedy. We had no idea but that the 
" Manitoba " would be waiting for us there, but soon 
found it had gone off before day to Bedloe's Island, 
where the horses and cattle were put on. At nine 
o'clock we steamed down the harbor, and climbed into 
our vessel. I began to have a slight sinking of the heart, 
knowing the end was doubtful, but had to shake that off 
pretty quick. We found all our trunks and things safe 
in the staterooms, and as I had one all to myself you 
can't think how cosy it looked when we fixed up the 
shoe-bag and the dressing-case, and everything ready to 
snatch when the ship tossed us about, — which it never 
did. I think my stateroom is at least seven by nine, 
anyhow. Beside the two berths it has a lounge, a wash- 
stand and a chair, and all the life-preservers hung up; 
and the port-hole opens immediately on to the ocean. 
No staterooms are down stairs, but all open on to the 
passage across which we step into the saloon, which is 
used for the dining room. Above all this is the hurri- 
cane deck, where we simply revel from morning till 
night, — congenial spirits forming little groups, and all 
busy doing nothing. 

At intervals we hear the lowing of the cattle, which 
gives quite a pastoral effect to a sea voyage. Tom and 



442 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

I went all through the stables the first day we were 
out, and the comfortable way in which they were fixed 
satisfied us. We met a French horse-dealer who was 
carrying over thirty-seven fine coach-horses to Paris, 
where he expected to double his money on them. They 
were most of them Kentucky horses, and I simply 
reveled in their fine proportions and eager, intelligent 
eyes. This Frenchman goes over two or three times a 
year, and says he never forgets a horse if he has once 
owned him, if only for a few weeks, — no matter where 
he sees him, or how many " proprietaries " he has had. 
The only thing I didn't like was that the horses could 
not lie down; and he said he would never go over again 
with such small accommodations for them. One gray 
mare was in a square stall, and the Frenchman fondled 
and petted her to my infinite satisfaction. There 
seemed to be a lot of other horses, and a batch of Per- 
cherons like the Millbourne horses going over for the 
standard Oil people. Perhaps you people won't be as 
much interested in them as I was, but I go down every 
day to see how they are getting along. It was very 
touching to me to see yesterday how restless they were 
all getting, with the feeling of the land coming, con- 
veyed to them in some mysterious way. Oh, I know 
they are homesick for grass and steady ground, but all 
the poor cattle are to meet their death within ten days 
of their arrival, which, according to the laws of Eng- 
land, is the limit of their life. Happily they are un- 
conscious of this, and enjoy the prospect of happy mead- 
ows waiting for them. 

We have spent many hours hanging over the stern 
(after a visit to the cattle), and by this you may know 
this vessel is as steady as a rock, or else all these people 
are extra good sailors. There is but one person on the ves- 
sel who has been in any way affected by the motion. She 
is a Miss Lefringwell, from Cleveland, who is going over 



1896. US 

to England and the Continent on a bicycle trip, with a 
Miss Sherman, also from Cleveland. I told her that I 
thought her sickness was only a pretence, a bid for popu- 
larity, as all the well people feel bound to pay her atten- 
tion, and were always asking about her if she did not 
come on deck. It was simply making herself scarce that 
fixed her in our minds, etc. She was greatly amused 
with that interpretation of her misery, but accepted it 
as better than her own. She is counting the hours now 
till we get to the docks, and we are most of us wishing 
the voyage could be twice as long. There is one little 
girl (a woman of twenty-five or thirty, I should think), 
who comes from Minnesota. She has been a never-end- 
ing pleasure to all, appearing so simple and unsophisti- 
cated, and yet as bright as a button. She is a teacher in 
Carleton College, Northfield, Minn., and is going over to 
study in Oxford for a year. She has been teaching also 
for two years in Salt Lake City, and had many experi- 
ences to tell me, who seemed to be her special confidante 
at first. Soon, however, she got acquainted with every- 
body on board, and everybody liked her; but the day 
never passed but she came to make me a visit, and sat 
by my chair "to have a good talk," as she said. She seems 
to be able to do a little of everything, and it gradually 
leaked out that she was head of the Academical depart- 
ment of Carleton College, and principal teacher of Latin. 
She is a little Puritan, and some of Mr. Smith's stories 
are quite too much for her, as she feels bound to pro- 
test against the use of swear words. She said yesterday, 
" Mr. Smith, I think you are very nice, and I cannot 
forget how you showed me the whales, but sometimes 
you say bad words, don't you? " To tell it is nothing, but 
the effect of her quaint little ways is irresistible, and 
everyone laughs in spite of themselves. While she was a 
student at Carleton College she had to stop in her sopho- 
more year to earn money enough to go on with the 



444 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

course. She went off to a little lumber town in Michi- 
gan, where she taught music for two years, and then 
went back to college, where she took her degree. She 
then began teaching, as before mentioned. I need 
hardly mention that she is of New England extrac- 
tion. 

My special attraction, however, has much more style 
and beauty and knowledge of the world, — in one sense 
of the word, at least. She is evidently a society girl, 
but as natural and unaffected and pretty as possible. 
When we first came on board I noticed her in her soft 
gray hat with a black band, and a lovely-looking man 
with her. I set them down as the inevitable lovers, and 
Tom and I had many private disputes about them. They 
are both fine looking, and to add to their attractions, 
both sing divinely. After a while we drifted together 
by some irresistible law of attraction, and now we wait 
for each other to do anything, and she is simply lovely 
in her kind attentions to me. We soon found they were 
husband and wife, not yet outgrown the poetry of this 
relation, and absolutely satisfying in their satisfaction 
with each other. They are bright, intellectual people, 
and they recite poetry to me, and give me many attrac- 
tive hints in reading. We had quite a time the other 
day guessing their ages, and by their invitation we 
studied them up to make these guesses accurate. I told 
them the only objection I had to their marriage was the 
disparity of years! She proved to be 23 and he 29, so I 
was all wrong. He looks much older, because his hair 
is beginning to be tinged with gray; but he is a self- 
made man, and his hard work has told on him. His 
name is Herbert Noble, and he has two brothers in 
Philadelphia, both doctors. His wife is Elsie, and I wish 
you could see how pretty and graceful she is, with her 
wealth of dark hair and her rich coloring. They were 
married last December, and have told me all about their 



1896. 445 

wedding, when all the bridesmaids and ushers wore 
holly, and at the reception the house was decorated in 
like manner. Then they told me about their lovely 
apartments, and after he drew the plan for me she 
showed me every piece of furniture and described all 
her lovely presents throughout the house, and said, 
" Now, don't you think we have more than we deserve? " 
Well, I can't help getting deeply interested in them; — 
they are fine through and through. They are going 
over to Bayreuth to hear the great Wagner operas, and 
are trying to persuade us to join them. If I had their 
musical education, I should think it as important as they 
do, and I would like to go as it is, for this was our orig- 
inal intention, to meet Edith Fuller and Maude Hoyt, 
who will be there. 

It will be incredible to you land-lubbers, with your 
mundane employments, to realize how busy we have 
kept doing nothing ever since we started. This morning 
Mrs. Noble and I got up early to see the Scilly Islands, 
and nothing could be more beautiful than they were, 
with ramparts of rock, and castellated towers, with the 
soft, rosy morning light upon them. We enthused ec- 
statically, and were perfectly indignant that the men of 
our party were snoozing away their opportunities. Mr. 
Smith has taken many photographs, and this was an op- 
portunity that should not have been missed, so we be- 
rated him soundly when he appeared long after we had 
left the islands behind. We are now, at noon, just pass- 
ing the Eddy stone light-house, and I assure you this 
letter is written under difficulties, sitting up on deck, 
covered up with my rug, and people running over to talk 
to me every minute. Please appreciate my wish to share 
my pleasures with you. Mrs. Noble says: "You sit 
there like a queen, and everybody treats you like one/' 
Of course there were at first many surmises as to how we 
were related, but people generally settled down to think 



446 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

I had a most devoted son, and I was almost sorry to un- 
deceive them. Tom has had much appreciation for his 
appreciation of me, and he is immensely popular on the 
ship. Mrs. Noble said yesterday: " Oh, yes, he is lovely; 
and I wonder all the girls don't go for him, but he would 
never have been half so nice if it were not for you." So 
you see compliments are impartial. She gave me some 
lovely little things for my calendar, and promises to 
think up some more. Our " Kenwood Rugs " have been 
the envy of all the passengers, and Mrs. Noble says she 
will " never be satisfied without a photograph of Miss 
Sellers in her little bag, and Mr. Smith as Grandfather 
Smallweed." He is so designated because he covers his 
head up in his rug till it looks like a nightcap, and as 
he does much reading aloud, and is always losing his pil- 
low, he has to be " shaken up " in that character. 

Much of the time it has been bitter cold, with a high 
head wind, so we made slow progress, not quite three 
hundred miles a day. Now we are all complaining that 
we are getting there too soon. Just as we are all shaken 
up into good companionship, we must begin all over 
again with other people. There are two girls on board 
whom we all take as a sort of perpetual joke. They are 
sisters, and find great amusement in every little thing, 
and in each other, so that we are all kept in a condition 
of laugh when they come around. One of them " ad- 
mires Miss Sellers very much," and I think it is upon 
the principle that makes Miss Lefrmgwell popular! We 
have had little conversation together, but she is disposed 
to be pleased with everything. Now we have all been 
pulled out of our chairs to see the lovely shores, like 
golden clouds coming down into the water. The hills 
are not green, but a peculiar hue which gives them a 
sort of golden effect, and the sailboats drifting by make 
me think, " With dreamful eyes my spirit lies under the 



1896. 447 

gates of Paradise." The day is simply perfect, and the 
air much softer than before. 

Last night we had a concert and candy-pull down in 
the saloon, and some good recitations, all in aid of the 
Home for Seamen's Orphans at Snaresbrook. They made 
thirty dollars, beside having a great deal of fun. The 
programs were made out artistically by two lovely young 
girls, who with their mother seem to be pursuing art 
as a profession, and I think perhaps teach. After the 
concert was over the captain held an auction for the pro- 
grams, which was very amusing, and the thing did 
not break up until near twelve! It was quite too exciting 
for me, and I never slept until after two o'clock. If it 
were not for Betty's rusks, I should frequently stay 
awake, but I sit and munch them, and that keeps me in 
the home-life which tranquilizes my wild and adven- 
turous spirit. The food here is plain but good, only it 
don't suit me, being quite too much meat and too little 
fruit for my taste. As to the milk, one would think 
that with the accommodations for cattle they would oc- 
casionally take cows and give us some of the genuine ar- 
ticle, which is not the case at present. We consider our 
stewardess a princess of the blood royal, for she seems 
able and willing to produce anything we ask for. 

We have been reading the " Honorable Peter Stir- 
ling," which some one suggested was meant as a record 
of Cleveland's life. Whether so or not, it is well writ- 
ten, and has enough of a love story in it to take it out of 
politics, which it is meant to describe. He is strong 
throughout, and very attractive, but quite different from 
my idea of a political boss. 

It is impossible to tell all our forms of lazy living 
this past week, and every one is expostulating with me 
for writing any more. People are beginning to realize 
that the parting is near at hand, and begin to ask for 
and give cards, and express hopes of meeting some time. 



448 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

I don't suppose we shall ever see each other again, but 
it has "been a pleasant experience, and we are all glad 
we came! 

I don't know how to write to all you dear people, 
of whom I think most tenderly now, so will simply ad- 
dress this letter to thee, dear Fin, and get thee to pass it 
round, not forgetting Alice. 

You will all be highly amused with my intimacy with 
Mrs. Noble, who thinks I might as well begin to call her 
" Elsie " at once! She certainly is loving and lovely, and 
pays me many little attentions that seem preposterous 
when we think we did not know each other a week ago. 
As we passed the Scilly Isles this morning we recalled 
" Armorel of Lyonesse," and picked out the special isl- 
and on which she lived. Miss D., the Minnesota girl, 
is counted one of our party; and she amused us much 
the other night by reading the passenger-list and giving 
as she went along a little history of each person as she 
had learned it. Everybody likes to talk to her, and I 
think, in a different way, she is quite as popular as Mrs. 
Noble, so she knows everybody on the ship and can give 
us points about them. Now to-night we must do our 
packing, leaving our ship things in one trunk and taking 
the other with us to the Arundel Hotel, where we go first 
in London. The next will be a dash for J. S. Morgan 
& Co. to see if there are any letters awaiting us, and in 
my secret soul I don't believe any of you have thought of 
writing! However, we'll soon see. 

Wednesday, July 29th, 1896. 

Here we are going through the sea-green Channel, 
which is as smooth as glass. Passed early this morning 
the cliffs of Dover, and looked out at Folkestone, etc., 
etc. Please notice I have attempted no description of 
our trip, having noticed that people are never interested 
in things they do not see. It is only character that is 



1896. 449 

the study; but the pictures we have seen are " photo- 
graphically lined on the tablets of my mind," not possi- 
ble to paint for others. Our packing is all done and the 
luggage ranged on the deck. Everybody votes it an 
ideal trip in spite of the three days of fog, when the old 
horn sent forth an unearthly shriek every three minutes, 
night and day. It was really very disturbing, especially 
to one who has secret fears to consider and overcome. 
The change in the color of the water is wonderful, and 
I don't know which is the prettier, the deep blue or this 
exquisite green. It seems a long, long way from home, 
and I adjure you all to keep well while I am away. 

This is my final good-bye to all, and I feel that this 
letter is too mixed up for much interesting matter, since 
much of the time while I wrote people were talking to 
me. They did not realize there was a " chiel amang* 
them taking notes " and publishing them to you. When 
I get a letter from any of you I shall feel it not so far 
away, but I seem to have little faith in your writing! 
This goes now, and we are going up the Thames, so the 
rest you may imagine. When Sary gets this she will 
see me wearing the little pocket which she made me; 
and I keep time by her little calendar clock. Wherever 
you are I hope each one will have a good summer. Tom 
sends love to all who care for it, and I whether you care 
for it or not. 

London, August 6th, 1896. 
Thy letter, dear Fin, with enclosures from Sary, 
reached me yesterday. Thee will never know how glad 
I was to get it, for here America is an incident, not a 
vital fact. I look in the papers, and find in five or six 
lines the whole thing disposed of, and Bryan's election 
spoken of as quite possible; warning everyone against 
American securities, and all investments there as " most 
dangerous." It is quite impossible for me to believe 
that the real people of the United States could so delib- 



450 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

erately cut their own throats, but many act ignorantly, 
and I can't help hoping the nation at large will be edu- 
cated beyond the possibility of such a mistake. When 
thee talks about the great excitement on the money 
question I feel crazy to get more news, but it is simply 
impossible to get into the spirit of the thing at this dis- 
tance, where the Bank of England stands like a rock, 
and even the pennies are kept up to their full value. 
Personally I would like to go out with money I could 
count, as I do at home, and not be forced to ask every 
shopkeeper to interpret the prices. I stand in a medi- 
tative mood when they get either above or below a 
pound, and I could easily lose all I possess if it were not 
for Tom. 

As to going about the streets here expecting to find 
my way, it is useless to try my mental fibre to that ex- 
tent. Crossing the street is an adventure at any time, 
and life and limb are at the mercy of drivers who never 
see you. London is a great place, full of fascinations, 
but too full of people for me. We have been here over 
a week, and feel as if we could not get away. I can do 
so little at a time that fully one-half my time is spent on 
the bed, resting up for the other half. How often I 
have realized that thee and Helen were wisely prevented 
coming with us. You never could have had patience 
with the poky ways of " yours truly." 

After leaving the ship and our pleasant companions 
we drove up to the Arundel Hotel, and found ourselves 
turned out in the street again, they being too full to ac- 
commodate us. Half a block away we found the Der- 
went House, where we were made welcome; and which 
seems to be in the midst of everything, and yet as quiet 
as a little church. We are only half a block from the 
Strand, and the same from the Embankment; and are 
close by Devereaux Court! We walked into this to-day, 
and found it was truly " a paved court," and the name 



1896. 451 

of " Twining " over one of the doors, quite conspicuous 
as a dealer " in tea, tobacco, snuff," and other neces- 
sities and luxuries of life. 

By-the-by, on shipboard this old worn-out story was 
told for Miss Danfortrr's edification. She saw through 
it in a minute, and indeed she could look through every 
and any millstone planted in her way. She is very 
bright. Last evening I received a long letter from her, 
written in Germany, where she now is. She went over 
there quite alone, and her letter gives a most amusing 
account of her adventures. She will always get along; 
for though she has a most unsophisticated manner she 
never is at a loss, and people take to her without know- 
ing why. She tells of some soup that she had for sup- 
per in Germany " of a pretty green color, made, I think, 
of tansy, boneset, fat pork and carrot-tops, chopped fine 
and boiled together. I have had a great blow to find 
there are some things I cannot eat, but then I have not 
been long in Germany." I am going to send her letter 
to Alice after I have answered it, for it gives her char- 
acter-sketches inimitably, and I think Alice will enjoy 
it. My letters will have to be made up in this way, for I 
can write very little at a time on account of my eyes, 
which get no better. This, no doubt, is largely owing 
to my taking so much in with them, and getting so fear- 
fully tired going about. My shipboard life was restful, 
but the food rather too robust for the likes of me, and 
the milk not to be had in its purity. One of our first 
expeditions, after taking up our quarters here, was a 
walk through the public gardens close by, and then 
hanging over the walls of the Embankment to see the 
Thames rushing along. It was a golden evening, and 
the Houses of Parliament were painted against the sky 
and in the water, and everything was in a soft haze. I 
feel Dickens in the air, particularly under the bridges 
and on the little boats plying up and down. Waterloo 



452 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

bridge, just below, is the one immortalized by Tom 
Hood: — "One more unfortunate," etc. There are 
niches in the walls where one could sit and throw herself 
into the water if so disposed. One afternoon we took 
one of the little steamers which ply up and down the 
river, and went down under Blackfriars bridge to Lon- 
don bridge, and below to the Tower bridge, and after- 
ward went up the river as far as Battersea park. It was 
truly a lovely experience, but quite democratic. It suits 
me to see London in this restful way, where my own 
insufficient legs are not brought into action; and it cer- 
tainly gives one an idea of the endlessness of London, 
and the throngs of people always crossing the bridges 
in every conceivable conveyance. 

August 7th. 
Last night as I was lying on the lounge in our little 
sitting-room, Tom came up from the office and brought 
me " an American letter," which I seized upon with 
eagerness. It was partly from Sary and partly from 
Helen, and each part was simply charming. Sary asks 
me to write to her especially, but this is impossible. One 
letter must go the rounds, for it is as much for one as 
for another; and as thee has a local habitation it is surer 
to address it to thee. We are going down to " Lewis's " 
on Cheapside this morning to exchange some things pur- 
chased the other day. It is so cold here I had to imme- 
diately invest in thicker underclothing, and yet the na- 
tives are complaining of the heat! If I could transport 
them to Philadelphia they would find out what hot 
weather is, for they certainly know nothing about it 
here. A few days after our arrival I went with Tom 
to call on his cousin, Mr. Brown, which was the first in- 
timation he had given to any of the family that he was 
in these parts. It was a great surprise, or, as Mr. Brown 
said, " very odd." He is a barrister, and one of the 
Queen's Counsel, which is supposed to be a mark of dis- 



1896. 453 

tinction, and entitles him to plead before Parliament, I 
think; and is also one of the advisers of Her Gracious 
Majesty. When cases take him before Parliament he is 
obliged to wear a full-bottomed wig and silk gown, in- 
stead of the smaller wig and stuff gown in which he ap- 
pears in the lower courts. He was very nice, and imme- 
diately asked us out to dinner, which I declined; but Tom 
went, and enjoyed it. That evening Tom's sister Alice 
was coming from Cambridge on her way to Edinburgh, 
and Tom went with Mr. Brown to meet her at King's 
Cross Station. She was " floored/' so to speak, by this 
substantial apparition. They took dinner together at 
the station, and when she reached Edinburgh she electri- 
fied the family by casually mentioning, " I took dinner 
with Mr. Brown and Tom last night." They thought 
she had gone out of her mind, but from the letters we 
both received next morning they were finally convinced 
of the truth of her statement. Such cordial letters, es- 
pecially from Lena, who told me I was " an angel for 
coming." She wants us to come directly to her, but we 
really could not give up Devonshire, and are going there 
on Monday to ride along that fascinating coast, and 
through the Doone country. Mr. v Brown has a country- 
seat down in Devon, and he insists on our winding up 
there at the end of the week. Tom's home sisters and 
aunt are going to be there on a visit of a month, so we 
will see them there. 

The other day Mr. Brown took us through all the 
law courts to gratify my insane curiosity to see all the 
barristers and judges in their wigs and robes, which was 
really quite impressive. He assured me that all this 
paraphernalia frightens people into telling the truth! 
We were in Chancery, and saw all the celebrated judges; 
and I was more struck with their soft voices and the 
lawyers' very deferential manner, than with anything 
else. We went into a dozen different courts, and all of 



454 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

them " spoke so genteel " I couldn't understand them. 
Mr. Brown afterwards took us round to his chambers, 
and I got him to put on his court wig and gown, and as 
he said, " It looks very swagger, doesn't it? " It evi- 
dently costs something to be one of the Queen's Counsel. 
He told us his " little fixin's were about sixty guineas' 
worth," which, being interpreted, means something like 
three hundred dollars. He wears knee-buckles and shoe- 
buckles, too, of cut steel, and they were very " swagger," 
too. We are invited out to his town house on Sunday for 
dinner. They go down to their Devonshire home next 
week, and our itinerary will bring us there the following 
Sunday. 

August 8th. 

This is such a piecemeal letter that I don't know 
how you will make head or tail of it. In the evening, 
when I would be glad to write, the light is so poor and 
my eyes so tired and aching that I have to put it off until 
morning while I am waiting for Tom to put in an ap- 
pearance for breakfast. The days keep pretty full, but 
I would not like to be put through a catechism on the 
sights of London. Two mornings we spent at St. Paul's, 
which is always restful in the midst of bustle. Last 
Sunday we attended service at Westminster Abbey, and 
heard Canon Wilberforce deliver a beautiful sermon on 
the " Unjust Steward," — pointing out that he was 
really a repentant steward, handing back to the tenants 
the unjust dues he had collected; and that we are com- 
manded to make friends of the mammon of unrighteous- 
ness, that is to say, to live in the world, — so live that 
anyone can see we are simply stewards of our Master. 
It was this thought that came to the great American 
Emancipator, who in early life felt discouraged, but to 
whom came the thought, " I am only a trustee, my life 
belongs to Cod, and He shall have His own. I will be 
His steward, and to His service I will live." And so he 



1896. 455 

lived, and gave his life to man and to God. That after- 
noon we went out by train to Hampton Court Palace, 
the nearest approach to royalty I have yet seen, but 
none of the royal family lives there now, only pensioners 
of the Crown. It is a stately pile of buildings, in per- 
fect proportion; and the interminable grounds, with 
their fountains, lakes, moats, etc., etc., are quite beyond 
description. We saw the big grape-vine planted by 
George III., and filling an entire greenhouse, bearing 
tons of grapes each year. They hung over our heads 
in process of ripening, and I thought of the fox and the 
grapes, for I really wanted a bunch very much, but they 
hung too high, and if I had taken them I should prob- 
ably have hung still higher. 

We took box seats on a 'bus coming home, and that 
was the most charming experience of all. Such lovely 
country! and the roads set my bicycle fever at its height. 
Nothing could be better. We passed through pictur- 
esque little towns, — Teddington, Twickenham (where 
the ferry is!), past the Kew gardens into Kensington, 
a ride of sixteen miles in all, with four horses and a good 
driver who wrapped me up in his warm rug, and who 
got down at various stations on« the way " for refresh- 
ments," as he told Tom, whereupon the latter invariably 
gave him something to " drink our health," which no 
doubt he did to the detriment of his own. This ride 
stands out in my mind as the best thing we have had, 
but there is no use to attempt any description; even the 
little houses on the wayside, bright with flowers, defy 
it. 

We met Bertha Lewis the other day on Cheapside, 
and she has been in London some six weeks, but don't 
feel as if she had begun to see it. She is in social life, 
too, invited to dinners and teas, and professionally to 
hospitals, where they have " such lovely operations ! " 
She was riding the top wave, and brushed against qual- 



456 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ity, if not royalty itself! I came pretty near it, too, in 
getting a pair of shoes where the Marquise of Lome 
gets hers! Fanny told me before starting to be sure and 
take plenty of shoes, so I thought I was prepared, but 
she did not tell me thick ones were a necessity, and I 
have suffered with cold feet in wearing rubbers. My 
shopping has extended in another direction, treating my- 
self to a sealskin cape; and here I went to various places, 
ending up where the Duchess of Waterloo (whoever 
she is) gets all her furs. A long list of titled ladies pa- 
tronize this place, as shown by the book of orders. When 
I condescended to go to Lewis's for my underclothes, 
(although I am not sure that people of rank go there!) 
I got combinations for winter and also for summer, be- 
side a pair of equestriennes, which I very much needed, 
and thicker stockings, and a dozen handkerchiefs of fine 
linen whereon to wipe the salt tears from my eyes when I 
don't get letters!! I ought not to complain, but I am 
hungry for news from America, and feel quite indignant 
at the paper here for saying so little. Tom brought one 
in last night which had quite a paragraph aboub Bryan 
and the convention called at Indianapolis. Tom and I 
both think it would be much better if the Democrats 
would unite on McKinley — but then that is going back 
on the party. I hope the time will come when principle 
will come first, in both parties, which it doesn't now. 
Helen is a trump to show Harry through Upper Darby, 
and I am proud of her success on the wheel. I am 
afraid I will forget all I know about riding, but so far I 
have seen no riding here to compare to ours. If we could 
only have these roads, we would show them what riding 
is! They all seem to sit too low, and the men are such fat 
chunks there is no possible grace. I am well satisfied 
we did not bring our wheels so far as London is con- 
cerned, but when we get into the country I know we will 
wish for them, particularly if we can't get passage home 



1896. 457 

earlier than October 8th. We have done our best, and 
Tom even engaged the Captain's room for me on Sep- 
tember 24th, if they could get a berth for him, and yes- 
terday we received word that this was impossible; so 
now we are waiting developments. I think from Saide's 
letter their stay at Monterey is of doubtful benefit, for 
without good food even scenery palls. Here I would 
give a great deal for a home cup of coffee, and the tea 
is made strong enough to taste like bitters: I return to 
milk with joy. This letter must go for what it is worth 
now, for I can't write any more at this time. I wish 
you would send my letter to Bessie at Windsor, Ver- 
mont, for I really can't write to her, and yet have her on 
my mind in continual remembrance. Good-bye to all 
my dear ones who read this letter, and don't forget how 
much I want to hear from you all. 

London, August 18th, 1896. 
Last night, when we got back from Devonshire, dear 
Fin, thy letter of the 6th instant welcomed me, besides 
two others, — one from Edith Fuller in the " Black 
Forest," and one from Sallie Wierman, written at Bryn 
Mawr. Each one was better than the other, and you can 
never know how delightful they were. When thee talks 
of thy " humdrum " letters it really incenses me. No 
poet ever wrote with such grace, and no scientist ever 
put forth more valuable facts! Why the ocean rolling 
between us makes everything more valuable I cannot 
see, but I am sure this must be the reason thee calls my 
insufficient rhapsodies " interesting." Each time I write 
I think how dull I have grown, for with such a wealth 
of material I ought to be perfectly fascinating. My ex- 
cuse for not being so, is the simple fact that I can write 
better without fact as a basis!! Imagination is the field 
for me, and when her wings are dipt by solid material I 
find myself hampered, and stiffened up into prosaic de- 
tails. Well, where shall I begin? I never can remem- 



458 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ber what I have already told you, and if I repeat myself, 
pray let it pass. 

First, I must tell why we did not go to Bay- 
reuth, much as my heart was set upon it. These con- 
certs come in cycles of four, and for each one the sum of 
five dollars is asked for a single ticket. This, together 
with the additional hotel bills and railroad fares, would 
have greatly added to the expenses of our trip, but in 
my secret soul I felt that it would probably be my last 
chance in this life, though perhaps the heavenly choirs 
may satisfy me as well! Edith's letter urged me not to 
miss the opportunity; they had just been, and she never 
imagined music and all its accompaniments so absolutely 
satisfying. Mr. and Mrs. Noble were going to the last 
cycle, which commenced on Sunday last and will end 
to-morrow; so they are in bliss now, I suppose. Even 
with all my enthusiasm for Wagner music, it did seem 
a little too much to pay forty dollars for the tickets 
alone. Well, I am determined on this trip not 
to dwell upon what might have been, but only 
enjoy what is; for this alone is for me. So 
many things have to be left out, because my " back is 
bad or my legs are queer; " but in spite of both I have 
had a great deal. First and foremost, — Devonshire. 

Don't let any one come to England and think they 
have seen it, without going to Devonshire. It is country 
at its best. We started out a week ago (though it seems 
like a month), and took the train for Minehead. This 
is a little seaport town, and is supposed to be a good 
starting-point for exploring Exmoor. We stayed at 
the " Plume of Feathers," a quaint old inn; and out of 
my window I looked down on the prettiest little 
thatched cottage covered with vines, and I could not 
rest till Tom took a picture of it. If it comes out well, 
you shall see it. We did not make a long evening for 
several reasons; — first and foremost, no one place we 



1896. 459 

have yet been has light beyond the dimmest gas or the 
most ambitions candle, either of which seems like noth- 
ing in comparison with our home arrangements. We 
took a walk down by the sea, which has a lovely stretch 
over to Wales, which we could dimly see the next morn- 
ing. We could have seen Minehead in a short time even 
in walking, but we took a carriage and rode over to 
Dunster, which is a collection of thatched cottages and a 
fine castle, to which latter we were not invited! We went 
to the very edge of the grounds and saw an old mill cov- 
ered with ivy, and two big overshot wheels outside. It 
was as romantic as possible, but would not have suited 
Millbourne Mills people. There was also an old 
Wool Market house here, of which we have a picture 
which you shall see. The statue of Queen Anne stood 
right in front of the " Plume of Feathers," and we en- 
deavored to get up a reasonable amount of reverence for 
it; but the country, the country! — this is what really 
goes to my heart!! Nothing could be more beautiful. 

About four o'clock our stage was ready to start from 
Minehead, and Tom and I climbed up on the box seat 
beside the driver. This last-named individual was dressed 
in a scarlet coat and fair-topped boots, and looked very 
gorgeous by the side of the Philadelphia tourists! The 
guard was also dressed in scarlet, and tooted his horn in 
a most masterly manner. We swung out of town and 
began to climb up toward the Doone country. Every 
one told us not to go to the Doone valley, to have all our 
imaginary pictures disillusioned. Well, we had what was 
far better, — the magnificent hills and moors. The 
weather was perfect, but beside all the wraps I could 
put on my ship rug was a necessity. When thee talks 
about hot weather at home, it seems impossible. I have 
never yet had on a thin waist, and indeed I can hardly 
keep warm without a coat, even in the house. I have 
worn my winter underclothes most of the time. 



460 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

Well, going through this bracing air, I did not won- 
der that such heroes as John Ridd were natural to the 
soil. When we stopped at Porlock it would not have 
surprised me to see his counterpart. These hills might 
well breed giants. They go up into the clouds, as I, 
who have climbed them, can testify. We had four horses 
till we got to Porlock, and then these were changed, and 
six put on. Almost immediately we began to climb the 
famous Porlock hill, — 1100 feet rise in three miles! I 
may mention we did not wish for our bicycles!! We 
went up and up, with many a turn, and many a pang in 
my heart for the horses, who simply put their toes into 
the solid road, and slipped and tugged, and made me 
feel every minute as if they must give out, and roll us 
to the bottom. At last, however, we reached the top, 
and such a top! Such a sweep of wild moor! It made 
me think of that old song of ours about " poor Mary," 
who "crossed the wild moor;" and I felt as if " poor 
Marph " had indeed crossed it, too, though with six 
horses instead of two weary feet. 

Well, the ride was simply beyond description; the 
hedges on either side full of sweet wild roses, and bloom- 
ing with honeysuckle; the hills covered with heather and 
rolling down into one another in wildest confusion; the 
sea stretching out into a waste of waters beyond; and 
finally the rolling mist, which came in billows and grad- 
ually shut us in. One can well imagine the possibility 
of being lost on these moors when the mist rolls in and 
over them. We had a distant view of "Dunkery Bea- 
con," and a near one of " Badgeworthy Glen," and felt 
that we were indeed in " Exmoor." We passed the 
Doone valley, seen dimly in the rolling clouds of mist; 
and after reaching Countesbury began the descent to 
Lynmouth; and oh, such a descent! If my heart was in 
my mouth going up Porlock hill, when I instinctively 
leaned forward to help the horses, what was it when I 



1896. 461 

planted my feet against the dashboard and tried to stop 
the mad career of the horses as they swung corners, and 
dashed down into the dark valleys below. It would 
have been certain death if any accident had allowed the 
stage to lose its centre of gravity. 

A sheer rock precipice down to the sea greeted our 
eyes as we neared Lynmouth, which is the darlingest 
little quaint town where the East and West Lyn meet, 
and full of thatched cottages and casement windows, 
with bright flowers and ivy-covered walls, and Kenil- 
worth ivy growing rampant over the rocks, and wild 
flowers tossing their heads up above the grass, and ferns 
dipping into the water. These little rivers meet and 
dash along together under the trees; and it is my one 
regret of the Devonshire trip that we did not stay a 
day at Lynmouth to explore these fascinating streams. 
Instead of that we mounted another hill up to Linton, 
where among the clouds was a fine hotel, and where our 
rooms were engaged. We found it full of fashionable 
people in evening dress and diamonds; and one of the 
sad episodes, to me, was the reflection that by Tom's ad- 
vice I had worn my ship dress, because we were " going 
out of the world." Well, the next time we will stay at 
Lynmouth just at the foot of the hill, though the view 
from Linton was incomparably finer. 

These two towns are part of each other almost, and 
there is a gravity road run by water connecting them. 
I looked at it before breakfast, and told Tom I would 
never go down it; but nevertheless I did, as we found it 
the only way to see anything of Lynmouth in the time 
we had, and I got used to risking my life at every turn! 
Already I have told you about Lynmouth, which we saw 
in less than an hour, but which should have taken us a 
day, and the natives say a week. Girl artists as thick as 
blackberries were there, and they all looked so settled 



462 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

and contented, and probably scorned our only resource, 
— to get or take photographs. 

We took another stage at ten o'clock, our destination 
being Clovelly. When we climbed to our seats I was 
charmed with the horses, — fine, strong, gay up-headed 
trotters, not one over five years old, as the driver in- 
formed me. I was more than satisfied with the driver, 
too, who fully appreciated them, and said he could not 
drive a poor horse. We had our experiences, however, 
as will appear. As we went up the first hill from Lin- 
ton one of the leaders suddenly threw himself back, and 
nearly brought the other on top of him. Then it was 
the true driver showed himself ready for emergencies, 
lie called down to the guard, who sprang to their heads, 
and patted and coaxed them; but the driver said, " I am 
afraid that collar is too tight," which it proved to be, 
and a boy was sent back for another, while the driver 
called to the poor mare, " Don't worry, my beauty; it 
wasn't your fault; we will soon make it all right;" which 
was done, and we dashed off again. 

There was a typical Englishman on the stage, a 
young fellow who outdid all the affectations of speech 
with which the English people worry me. I know they 
could talk plainer and better if they chose, but it might 
be some foreign language for all I can understand. I 
notice, however, they have some difficulty in under- 
standing me, which has no excuse! Well, this young 
fellow talked to the driver a great deal, and in his lan- 
guid way began always, " I say, Baker (the driver's 
name), will you tell me whose cob is that?" And then, 
when the driver told him, " Now, weally; I might have 
known, but didn't." It is nonsense to tell this, for noth- 
ing but the reality and listening with your own ears 
could do any sort of justice to the conversation. Tom 
and he had quite a talk as they walked up some of the 
hills, and he was evidently a person of some consequence 



1896. 463 

in Lynmouth; but the way he rolled his R's, and put in 
half a dozen where one would do, made it quite an ex- 
citement to listen to him, coupled with his peculiar tone 
of voice, — up when it should go down! Some nice 
ladies were on the coach, too, but we only made ac- 
quaintance with one, from her resemblance to Mrs. 
Brooks, and when we got to Clovelly were quite inti- 
mate with her on that basis. She talked straight, and 
was very cordial and nice; and, not knowing her name, 
we always speak of her as Mrs. Brooks, even yet. 

Our ride was a perfect one, and the day a dream of 
beauty in that fine atmosphere. We had one more ad- 
venture with the horses, for as we were going gaily 
along, suddenly one of the wheelers went down, and 
seemed to be a struggling mass, with his feet where his 
head ought to be. The names were broken, and it 
seemed not impossible (to my doubting spirit) that we 
might spend the night on the moor. However, our 
driver was as cool and collected as if he were driving 
on Eotten Eow with plenty of people to help him. He 
got the horse on his feet (while I found mine gathered 
up in my lap), and, getting down from his perch, found 
the full extent of the catastrophe. As Mrs. Brooks said, 
" The only agitation shown was that he had to take his 
pipe to assist his mental processes." No hames grew on 
the moor, and no coach could go without them, so we 
looked on and wondered what would come next. A boy 
was despatched to a far-away barn, but returned with 
nothing that helped; but a rope was found, and one of 
our passengers (being a sailor lad) knew how to tie knots 
that would not slip; and so the two ends of the hames 
were bound up like a sore finger and we trotted off de- 
fiantly. After this, I know the Exmoor drivers cannot 
be stopped either by choking horses or broken harness, 
or by any wild imaginings of their passengers. To 
make a long story short, we finally got to Clovelly, — at 



464 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

least the driver said we were there; but it was the re- 
verse of Yankee Doodle, who said he " couldn't see the 
town, there were so many houses "; for we couldn't see 
one. The driver told us to walk down the path, (which 
was a steep declivity), and turn the corner, and we 
would find ourselves in the town. 

Sure enough, when we turned the corner there we 
saw the High street, consisting of a series of steps; every 
house on its own level, just a step above the other; and 
all the houses and steps, with many a turn in and out, 
leading down into the sea. It was the quaintest and 
most individual town or village I ever saw. Nobody 
can describe Clovelly, and I shall not attempt it; but I 
will say en passant that I had but two buttons left on 
my shoes when we finished our tramps up and down, 
next day. The serious part of this was that my buttons 
were left in London, and I was next to barefoot in Clo- 
velly. 

" Mrs. Brooks " and her aunt and Tom and I went 
down to the quay after supper, and sat a long while on 
the old sea-wall, founded on a rock ; and all the houses, 
however low or high, had also followed the Scriptural 
admonition to build upon a rock. All these cottages 
were bright with flowers and covered with vines, and 
the casement windows were wide open, and the whole 
effect was beyond description rural. The " New Inn," 
where we stayed, might have been designed by Noah's 
architect, and built at the same time as the Ark; but 
the natives choose to call it new, because they can re- 
member it being built, while of the " Red Lion," down 
at the quay, no one can ever imagine the beginnings! 

All this village was at one time inhabited solely by 
fishermen, but now, alas! the inevitable sight-seer has 
desecrated the streets; and an old fisherman told me pri- 
vately, " oh, we don't mind a few people, but yesterday 
a boat-load of six hundred people came, and that's too 



1896. 465 

much for this town, as yon can see yourself." I feel in- 
censed for them to be so overrun. Fortunately for us 
we left Clovelly before there was another inundation of 
this kind. In the morning before breakfast Tom went 
down to the quay, but out of respect to my buttonless 
boots and my shaky legs I concluded not to try it. In- 
stead I went into a shop where photographs were for 
sale. I opened the door, but nobody appeared; so in a 
minute a voice came from upstairs, " Is there anybody 
down there ? " to which I answered, " Yes ; I just came in 
to look at your photographs." Then she said, " Well, 
just sit down and help yourself," which I did. Directly 
the owner of the voice appeared, half dressed, and I 
apologized for coming so early, but she replied, " Oh, 
no, it's not early; I have been washing for an hour, and 
if you will just attend, to the shop I will get dressed," — 
so there I was left, not knowing the money of the coun- 
try, in care of the sales! Fortunately nobody came. 

Oh, I am stringing this letter along like Anne Gar- 
rett's prayer, and at this rate I shall never get done. It 
has been written at many odd moments, but I assure you 
I leave out so much more than I tell that I seem to tell 
nothing. I could write reams about Clovelly, but I won't. 
Here Kingsley lived for some time, and he was born on 
the hill above the town. His house is not unlike the 
others, with its little garden in front, and a holly-tree to 
keep his memory green. He brought his wife in after 
years to see this place, and said to her, " Now that you 
have seen the dear old Paradise, you may know what 
was the inspiration of my life before I met you." There 
is but one street in Clovelly, and this has the ambitious 
name of High street. No vehicle could ever go up or 
down it, and a small donkey with panniers carries every- 
thing. I heard two men talking down under the arch- 
way. One said, " Well, how do you like Clovelly? " to 
which the other replied, " Oh, I like it, barring the High 



466 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

street "; which, representing the whole town, signified 
his general disapproval. I am afraid he was a prosaic 
American. 

We went over to Hartland Point in a carriage, and 
had a lovely ride. On our return we stopped at Clovelly 
church, up the hill above the town. Here KingsleyV 
father preached for many a year, and in the vicarage 
close by, where Kingsley was born, now lives his daugh- 
ter, whose husband is the present vicar. In the old 
church we saw a brass tablet set in the walls, dedicated 
to " Kingsley — Poet, Preacher, Novelist "; for, though 
he is buried in "Westminster Abbey, it seems appropri- 
ate to have this tablet here in his native haunts. It was 
set by his daughter and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Har- 
rison. The air is full of Kingsley, and the inhabitants 
use his name as a household word. In the church was 
set apart a place for the Cary family, and the pulpit is 
pointed out as the gift of " Will Cary," whom you may 
remember in " Westward Ho." The scenes of that 
novel are before you all the time in this neighborhood, 
and when we reached Biddeford we were right in the 
midst of it. We saw the " light-house tower " of which 
the " Three Fishers " was written, and I myself don't 
see how he could help but write " Clear and Cool " in 
this fascinating and suggestive coast. 

August 19th. 
I am horrified at the length of this letter, and yet I 
must get you back to London out of Devonshire and 
Dartmoor, where we spent Sunday with Tom's relatives. 
I think I told you about the Sunday before, when we 
took dinner with them in their London home, and in the 
meantime they had moved down into their country place, 
in this wild region. They have about four hundred 
acres here, and such views! The family consists of Mr. 
and Mrs. Brown, their son and two daughters, all fine, 
bright children, now nearly grown up. They also had 



1896. 467 

two young men, their son's friends, staying with them, 
to whom we were not introduced!! It does not seem to- 
be the fashion here to introduce people, and I think it is 
very awkward. We all talked together, however, and 
finally settled into most familiar intercourse. 

Miss Allison, Tom's aunt, and his two home sisters, 
Jessie and Ella, were there; and it did me good to see 
how Tom blossomed out. He was so at his ease, and 
they made so much of him, that I began to think how he 
must have missed it in all these years. They sang to- 
gether, and recalled old times, and as Ella said to me, 
" Oh, Tom is such a dear. He always was, and always 
will be." Ella is the youngest of the family, and Tom 
did not know her at all when he first met her, as she was 
a little girl when he left, and is now a fine, tall specimen 
of womanhood, very pleasant and bright. She kisses me 
on both cheeks night and morning, and reminds me con- 
tinually of Lena. Mrs. Brown was very polite and pleas- 
ant, but when she went out to a neighbor's to tea Sun- 
day night and said not a word of excuse or explanation, 
but simply went, I wondered that we should bother with 
such things in America, for this is certainly the easiest 
way! Mr. Brown is jolly and delightful, and, as I told 
him, a great contrast to his dignified self in wig and 
gown! There are many curious things to dwell upon, 
but I can hear your yawns all the way across the Atlantic 
with this too long letter. 

Before I left London I got pretty tired breaking in 
new towels and napkins for the Derwent House, and 
fondly hoped this ordeal would be changed when I went 
down into Devonshire, where old things prevail. Each 
hotel, however, brought out its stiff towels for my bene- 
fit, and when I got to Mr. Brown's it was the same, and 
then for the first time it dawned upon me that they were 
starched, so now I simply wipe on boards and say noth- 
ing! Our rooms were ready for us when we got back 



468 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Monday morning, and it felt very good to me to be a 
boarder instead of a visitor. We start north on Thurs- 
day, our first stop at Leamington, then Chester I believe, 
and on to the Lakes and Edinburgh the last of next 
week. We send our trunks on there, and travel with the 
dress-suit cases, and the inevitable rugs! I use mine 
every night on my bed, and so defy the linen sheets, 
which I hate. A letter from Mrs. Noble the other day 
calling me " Our dear Queen Bee/' — and yet, Sary, she 
had never seen me quilting! Now this must go; I am 
not half done, but I'm sure you must be. I would much 
rather write to each one of you, but can't. 

Tom sends love, and mine is always with you. 

August 19th, later. 

On asking Tom something about our Devonshire 
trip, I find I have told fearful stories in the above letter. 
The very English young man was on the coach from 
Linton to Barnstable, and the good horses, fine driver, 
and accidents all were on the road from Biddeford to 
Clovelly. Two coaching trips with a piece of railroad be- 
tween, all on the same day, have slightly mixed me; and 
in the interest of truth I make this correction. One 
coaching trip was fourteen miles, and one eighteen 
with half an hour on the railroad; so you may judge 
from this how Devonshire air agrees with me! This is 
the land of clotted cream and Devonshire junket, which 
we have absorbed at every meal; and the good water was 
a great relief after London. At Mr. Brown's place there 
runs along the edge of his property a tramway made of 
granite blocks over which was hauled all the stone of 
which London Bridge is built. The company is now 
out of existence, and much of this has been torn up by 
unappreciative natives; but Mr. Brown is a lover of old 
things, and has taken steps to preserve all of it that 
passes through his grounds. Both of his houses are full 
of old oak chests and fine carved furniture, and brasses 



1896. 469 

and copper urns, and fine china gathered from time to 
time on their trips through the country-side in their 
gypsy caravans on holidays. They bother me, however, 
by not showing them effectively, and I told them that in 
the new house which they intend building in Devonshire 
they must be sure to have glass- and china- closets where 
their treasures may be seen. If I had such a wealth 
of elegant cut glass and fascinating urns of brass and 
copper and silver ad infinitum, I think I could do some- 
thing better than shut it up in a cupboard! Their fur- 
niture also was a constant source of admiration to me, 
but even in this they seem to make nothing of it, and in 
fact don't study effects at all. Mr. Brown was always 
running me on America and American ways, and had 
I " spoken out in meeting " I would have astonished 
them ! ! 

Now Tom tells me it is time for us to go and get my 
shoes (made by Lady Lome's shoemaker) — and if they 
fit it will be a great relief. One sad episode at Mr. 
Brown's was losing my shoes. After searching wildly 
for them under every piece of furniture in the room, I 
finally concluded they had been stolen, and had to re- 
turn to my buttonless ones. Afterwards it was discovered 
that the maid had taken them while I slept and carefully 
blackened them, which has effectually ruined the French 
kid. Oh no, I don't like too much English!! Hot water 
baths brought into the room don't make up for a good 
bath-room, and paying every person who looks at you is 
simply an outrage. Well, now, good-bye to all. I won't 
write so much next time, but feel as if I ought to have 
more letters. 

Lichfield, August 26th, 1896. 

It seems to me a long while since I wrote to you dear 
home-people, but the days are so full it lengthens them 
out, and you may possibly not find it so long. My last 
was from London after our Devonshire trip, but I'm 



470 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

sure it could never give you an idea of that charming 
country. I remember my dear Fin dislikes letters of de- 
scription, which are either always too much or too little; 
but surely thee might excuse a little rhapsody when I 
don't make thee look at pictures and other such sights! 
These I find are not for me, and therefore not for you 
on this trip. When I come home, and you question me 
on London, etc., you will think I have seen nothing; but 
Devonshire is a picture that is fadeless for me. 

A day or two before we left London we went out to 
Windsor Castle, and I cannot even yet think of it with- 
out humiliation. Just as we got ready to see things my 
strength suddenly gave out, and I simply couldn't go on. 
Then Tom announced that he had no wish to see the 
state apartments, and proposed a ride through Windsor 
forest; which we took, much to my delight and comfort. 
Finally, having got a good hold of myself again, we 
stopped at Her Majesty's stables, and saw all the fine 
horses and carriages being escorted around by a groom. 
He showed us the harness of the Prince Consort, worked 
in porcupine quills, and very handsome; and with some 
solemnity assured us that it had never been used since 
his death. We saw the Arab horse presented by the Sul- 
tan of Morocco to Her Majesty, which also was " never 
used pxcep 4 " * nv exercise/ 7 One stable was full of greys 
of light build and beautifully groomed, and another of 
bays, and yet another of mixed varieties. There are 
about one hundred horses in all, but about fifty of them 
had gone to Osborne with the Queen and her suite. We 
were especially interested in the carriages, which to a 
democratic eye are pretty fine; but postillion driving 
seems a flat sort of thing, so " that we left behind." I 
won't stop to tell you any more of Windsor, for I must 
hurry on to this charming little town. For solid com- 
fort commend me to Lichfield! Here for the first time 
we had a good light, from a homey sort of lamp; and 



1896. 471 

p 

here, with a lovely bright fire in my room, I began to 
thaw out. 

We left London on Saturday, August 22d, having 
been detained a few days there with my disabilities. I 
contrived to get cold, and had such a lame neck and 
shoulder that traveling was not to be thought of. We 
went up to Leamington and stayed over Sunday, saw 
Warwick Castle, and the next day went out to Kenil- 
worth in what I should call a pouring rain! Other peo- 
ple didn't seem to mind it, for they did not even put up 
their umbrellas; but I stood under arches and in dun- 
geons of one kind or other while Tom went round to see 
it in detail. It is truly beautiful in its ruins, and if 
walls could speak what stories they might tell! I had 
been there before and located poor Amy Robsart/s death- 
tower, etc., but even with all its associations of misery 
we found it great fun! The recollection of my last visit, 
when John and Carrie kindly escorted me, is very vivid, 
but we are leaving Oxford out of our program at this 
time, as we hope to see it later when Miss Danf orth will 
be there, — perhaps. I had a long and interesting let- 
ter from her in Italy, giving a further account of her ad- 
ventures, which are always spicy and interesting. 

In London we made no acquaintance, but thanks to 
Horace we had a most charming day yesterday at Duf- 
field with Miss Moore, his correspondent on the records 
of the Sellers family. We took the train out to Derby, 
and on five miles further, to Dutneld. Armed with 
Horace's letter of introduction, we inquired at the sta- 
tion for the vicarage, and it was pointed out quite near, 
up on a high hill overlooking the town. We clambered 
up to it, and found its surroundings quite ideal. The 
house was covered with vines, and a Grloire de Dijon rose 
in full bloom spread itself over the front door. The 
garden was bright with flowers, and the fine turf like a 
carpet under our feet. The outlook across the Derwent 



472 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

to the opposite rolling hills was lovely, and we stood 
quite a while to admire it. Finally when we rang the 
bell it was answered by a lady sitting in the hall, busy 
doing some typewriting. I asked if Miss Florence Moore 
was in, and she said, " Well, I believe she is, but I will 
go see "; so she ran upstairs, and we heard her calling 
" Florence ! " so I made up my mind she was her sister; 
but even now I don't know, in consequence of the curi- 
ous neglect of introductions! Finally a maid came and 
asked us into the parlor, which was a lovely bright, sun- 
ny room at the left. She said, " What name shall I tell 
Miss Florence?" so I handed her Horace's letter, and 
off she skipped. 

We sat down in the parlor and admired the old 
things, and found they were musical from the vari- 
ous appointments, and a little traveling clock on the 
piano like Chellie's made me think of her. Well, we 
did not wait long before Miss Florence came in, and 
even from behind the screen at the door she said, " I am 
so glad you came." She was very pleasant and most cor- 
dial; told us she had just been writing to Horace, quite 
a long letter; and his interest in the records of the 
church was most gratifying to her father and to herself. 
She gave us quite a description of the church, which is 
one of the oldest in England, and is mentioned in the 
Domesday book, showing that it goes back as far as 
William the Conqueror; and finally she offered to go 
with us to see it. We got quite interested in the family, 
and her father, the minister, over eighty years of age, 
was one of the loveliest looking men I ever saw, so much 
so that before we left I asked his daughter if she had a 
photograph of him to spare. She seemed very much 
pleased with this audacious request, and said she would 
send me one when she could look for it. We had de- 
clined any refreshments, but when we got outside and 
found it was raining she insisted on our going back for a 



1896. 473 

glass of milk at least; and this being my weak point, 
I could not resist. When we got in again another wo- 
man turned up, who also was not introduced, but who, 
we learned afterwards, was a friend staying with them. 
This friend was just going down to Devonshire to stay 
with the Kingsleys, Charles Kingsley's nieces. We had 
quite a talk with her, and she asked if we ever heard 
of George Eliot in America! They told us of a little 
town of Werkesworth, about eight miles away, where 
Dinah Morris, of " Adam Bede," lived, and the cottage 
is pointed out to all visitors, as well as the other places 
there made illustrious through George Eliot. After our 
refreshments were over, and Mr. Moore had told us all 
about the restoration of the church now in contempla- 
tion, we marched off accompanied by Miss Florence; and 
as the rain was not quite over we stopped at the office 
of her brother, who is a barrister here, and Tom asked 
him where he should go for a carriage. He insisted 
upon going himself, as he could do it so much quicker; 
and the carriage soon arrived, and we drove directly to 
the church. It is a very pretty and most curious old 
church, in good proportion, but I did not wonder they 
wanted it restored, because of the dreadful mixture of 
modern and ancient. Miss Florence told us we had 
come just in time, for it would be all turned topsy-turvy 
in a few weeks. We saw the font where all our little an- 
cestors were baptized, and admired the old yew tree 
outside under which they no doubt played. This tree is 
known to be nine hundred years old, and thought to be 
a thousand; and in either case it might have been a 
familiar object to the Sellers family, who belonged to 
this diocese. We stayed there an hour at least, and 
Tom took several pictures, both inside and out; which 
was a rare privilege. Miss Moore invited us back home 
with her, as our train for Derby would not leave for an 
hour; but we knew enough not to pile on the agony in 



•±74 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

that way! Just before we parted Tom said, "Miss 
Moore, Miss Sellers is very nmch interested in the res- 
toration of this church of her ancestors, and wants you 
to accept this [handing her a pound — five dollars — 
in gold] as her contribution." I was as much surprised 
as she, and felt very flat when she poured out her thanks 
for "this generous gift," of which I knew nothing till 
that moment. Afterwards I asked him why in the 
world he lugged me into it, when he could just as well 
have given it as his own contribution. He said, " Why, 
there would be no propriety in my giving to the church, 
and every reason for you to give for the sake of your 
ancestors." She said, " Oh, now you must be sure to 
come and see it when it is done, since you have such in- 
terest." I assure you I felt very small indeed with the 
honor she heaped upon me, and we parted great friends. 
Her father has not preached for a long time, and looks 
rather feeble. 

After we had parted with Miss Moore, Tom pro- 
posed that we should drive over to Derby rather than 
wait for the train, which we did, in alternate sun and 
rain. I don't wonder they use Victorias here for car- 
riages, for the top can be put up and down so easily. 

One great feature of Duffield is the Derwent, a full, 
rapid little river. Its banks back of the church are 
very charming. Tom took a picture of the bridge close 
by, and of the old yew tree; and I brought away a branch 
of the latter to see if I can make it grow at Melbourne, 
which is not likely; but I like the idea of our ancestral 
acres having this memento of the mother country. On 
our ride over to Derby we saw many charming places; 
and we also got quite an idea of the town, as our sta- 
tion was at the farther end of it. We saw over one door 
" F. Peakson," so the old stock did not all emigrate. 
They always call it Darby, bat spell it Derby, and I 
think that is foolish. B'owever, the people here put 



1896. 475 

letters in and out of words continually in their pro- 
nunciation, to the confusion of the traveler. 

Now I have made too long a story of our Duffield 
trip, and can hardly do justice to this quaint little town 
of Lichfield. We stay at the " George/' which is an 
old-fashioned inn, very unpretentious, but comfortable. 
I am writing in my room before a blazing fire, which you 
poor dear hot people at home cannot appreciate, Fm 
sure. Then I have a big fat feather bed which I revel 
in, and have an intimate friendship with our chamber- 
maid, who watches out for my comfort. 

Wednesday, 26th. 

My letters all have to be written at odd times, and 
will read very jerky, I fear. I am now waiting for the 
carriage to take us to the train for Chester. This morn- 
ing we attended services in the cathedral here, which is 
by far the most charming we have yet seen. The first 
church built here was in the seventh century, I believe, 
but I am always mixed about dates. I know, however, 
that the cathedral was built partly about the year 1000. 
It is peculiar for having three spires, and the whole west 
front is covered with little niches and statues. I won't 
describe its beauties for every reason, but you will get an 
idea from the photographs. Here in the choir are some 
beautiful carvings done at the time of the restoration 
some thirty years ago. These are interesting from the 
fact that they were done by Evans, Adam Bede's broth- 
er; and I never knew before that George Eliot had per- 
sonated her own father in the character of Adam Bede. 
In this cathedral also are Chantrey's first and last works, 
— one the " Sleeping Children," which is an exquisite 
conception in marble; the other, a statue of Bishop Ey- 
der. The friend of Miss Moore at Duffield told me that 
Chantrey, when a boy, used to sell greens from a barrow 
which he wheeled round the neighborhood. His habit 
of moulding figures in clay attracted the attention of 



476 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

some one who was able and willing to give him an educa- 
tion, and we reap the benefit in his exquisite creations in 
marble, now so famous. 

It would be useless to tell you the wonders of this 
cathedral, from the stained glass down to the tessellated 
floor; so I must hurry on, and remind you that here in 
Lichfield Dr. Johnson was born, and his statue, sitting 
in a chair, is set up directly in front of the house in 
which he was born. Both statue and house are very 
ugly. In the Dean's court on the south side of the ca- 
thedral are busts of Dr. Johnson and Garrick. We are 
told that Dr. Johnson said of the people of Lichfield 
that " they were the most sober, decent people in Eng- 
land." We made a pleasant acquaintance with the lead- 
ing photographer of the town, Horace Pike by name, but 
from his light-hearted ways I cannot think him any rela- 
tion of old friend Pike, who felt it a sin to smile, I am 
sure. 

Chester, August 27th. 

The first thing we did on arriving in Chester last 
night was to order a fire in my room, and after a good 
supper I went to bed, glad to get warm at last. This 
morning as soon as we had breakfast Tom went to the 
bankers' for letters. Alas! none from America; but one 
from Mrs. Noble, written in London. They sail for 
home to-day, and she says, " The very thought of the At- 
lantic makes us wish for you to sail with us." She 
wants me to write to New York, telling the day of our 
departure, and she will meet us on the wharf on the ar- 
rival of our vessel; and, if we will consent, take us home 
to lunch. This last I don't think we shall do, for if we 
get our feet on our native shores again we cannot too 
soon get back to our own little nest at 3303. It seems 
sad to me that Sister Mary will not be there to meet us 
as of old, as we each played hostess to the other on our 
return from any long absence. I am sure it feels much 



1896. 477 

farther away and a much longer absence to me than to 
yon whose even tenor of life has been undisturbed. I 
have had a perfect time so far, barring my strength (or 
the want of it), which often gives out even at home with- 
out so much provocation. 

This morning we had a long walk on top of the walls. 
It is the most curious town I have yet seen, and full of 
varied interests. I had to rest as long as, or longer than, 
I walked; and now while my room is being fixed up, I 
am sitting- out in the wide hall at the head of the stairs 
among the plants, to finish off my letter. This after- 
noon we shall ride, or perhaps go to the cathedral; and 
Tom has now gone out to get some films for his camera. 
To-morrow afternoon we shall leave for the Lakes; and 
expect to reach Edinburgh on Monday. Letters are to 
be forwarded there; and woe be to you if I don't find any 
waiting for us! You have been very good about writing 
(Saide and Fin, I mean), — but no word has yet reached 
me from Millbourne. Ask John if he remembers how 
he pined for letters when he was abroad! 

Now this must go, and if any one knows about Alice, 
please tell me. It is not like her not to write, and I fear 
she is sick. I hope the hot spell is over for you. 

Edinburgh, September 1st, 1896. 
There never was a letter more welcome than the one 
written by Sarah and Anne enclosing one from thee, 
dear Fin. We arrived in Edinburgh the night before, 
and hurried up to the Eoyal Hotel, confident of a batch 
of letters. Alas, not one! It was not to be believed! 
When did we leave London, anyhow? A month ago, 
surely; but when we came to count it up, we found it 
only about ten daj r s. So much had been crowded into 
that time, it made it seem longer; but I could not be- 
come reconciled to " no letters." I hated the Eoyal Ho- 
tel, which we both rated a royal fraud; and resolved we 



478 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

could not stay there. We had rooms assigned us in the 
fifth story, and were carried up by a creaky old elevator 
which was not considered safe for more than two at a 
time! Tom left me to go look up our trunks, which we 
had not seen since we left London. I was relieved when 
he came back and said they were all right; but he did 
not have them sent up, because we were not going to stay 
in this dismal place. There was a great deal of show 
and no comfort, and I felt homesick for the first time. 

As soon as we had had our supper we took a cab and 
drove to an address we had for lodgings. When we got 
there we found the lady about to move, and were told 
that if we could wait until the end of the week she would 
be "most pleased " to have us. Well, we couldn't wait, 
and went directly to a Miss Percival in Torpichen street, 
whose name had been given us on shipboard by Miss Grill. 
This was one of our amusements on shipboard, — ex- 
changing addresses; and in our hour of need we found it 
of great advantage. We found Miss Percival, who said, 
" If you wait till to-morrow, I can give you these rooms, 
which are about to be vacated." We looked at them, 
and found them on the ground floor, but high up from 
the street; — one large front room for a sitting-room, 
with an open fire; a large room back of it where in 
imagination we saw our trunks disposed very easily; also 
a small room across the hall for Tom, which he said was 
plenty large enough to sleep in. We made a quick de- 
cision and took them without parley, and went back to 
the Royal Hotel to sleep off the intervening time. 

Next morning after a late breakfast we came out into 
the dreary hall, preparatory to packing ouselves out of 
the place. Just for something to do we strolled up to 
the letter rack, which "is arranged alphabetically; and 
we had thoroughly examined all the S 7 s the night before. 
But lo and behold! here were three letters for us, one 
from Miss Pearson for Tom, one for me from Wilming- 



1896. 479 

ton in an unfamiliar hand, and one for me from Maude 
Hoyt from Germany. We new up stairs (or rather Tom 
did), and I went up in the gloomy little den of an ele- 
vator, reading my letters as I went. It was sweet in 
Sarah and Anne to write to me, but they will never know 
how light of heart this letter made me. You see, when 
I don't hear pretty regularly my imagination runs riot 
on sickness, and death, and all conceivable things that 
might happen in my absence. With one glance at your 
letters I resumed my natural relations with the world in 
general, and did not even hate the Eoyal Hotel as much 
as I had done before! We speedily got away from it, 
however, and took our light luggage over to our new 
place, though they said they would not be ready for us 
until about two o'clock. It was then ten, so we left our 
belongings and went off to send up our London trunks. 
This done we strolled about the streets, and Tom took 
me to a rubber store which he used to frequent as a boy, 
and there we each invested in real water-proofs, and I 
got a pair of rubber shoes, having worn my old ones out 
on the trip. Then we went to see if I could get a warm 
ulster before the trip into the Trosachs. Again our 
address-book stood us in good stead, and Miss Gill had 
written, " Go to Fields' for tweed goods "; so there we 
went, and there we saw and conquered. I spend all my 
money in outside garments; and to keep warm and dry 
is the problem I am always trying to solve in this cold, 
wet climate. Well, we did not decide in a hurry on the 
ulster; but in the midst of looking at samples Tom sug- 
gested that my judgment would be better after I got my 
lunch. So we left Fields' and went off to a restaurant 
close by, and being reinforced in this way returned to 
know just what I wanted, which is now in process of 
making. 

After this we took a car to Torphichen street, and 
found everything shining for us. The rooms looked 



480 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

even nicer than the night before, and we reveled in the 
cheerful fire, and the room in which to spread ourselves. 
We began at once to unpack all our trunks, satchels, etc., 
and unearthed many forgotten treasures and fixed our- 
selves as if we were going to live there all winter instead 
of a few weeks. Drawers and closets were arranged in 
home fashion; and now we had what we had been most 
longing for, a chance to get clean clothes, and make up 
two big bundles for the wash. The bath-room was put 
at our disposal, and Tom spent the rest of the afternoon 
in it; and when he came out spick and span with his new 
London suit on, I felt quite honored by his company. 
Then we had a lovely little home dinner, and spent such 
a cozy evening, looking over our various photographs 
and reading our old letters, — for we never destroy 
them here, as we do at home. Creature comforts are a 
great deal, and we feel our self-respect increased by these 
new conditions and surroundings. 

And now I must go back and take up the thread of 
my yarn at Lichfield, when I mailed a letter; not forget- 
ting, however, to say first that thy letter, dear Fin, en- 
closed in the girls', was read over several times and en- 
joyed thoroughly. It seems impossible that you find mine 
of half the interest, and I feel very grateful for all your 
appreciation, however undeserved. I was especially 
touched by William and Amalie coming down to El- 
lerslie in that hot weather on purpose to hear from me, 
and I thank them and everybody else who finds any 
pleasure through me. I keep feeling all the time that 
this opportunity is too good for me; — that I am not 
able to make as good use of it as most people would. 
Maude Hoyt says in her letter, however, " Edith and I 
think you ought not only to have good legs and back 
for your journey, but relays of them, to satisfy you that 
you are the best traveler in the world." If I can in 
any way supplement my legs by my eyes, and pass on 



1896. 481 

what I see, it is the only way to make me satisfied of de- 
serving such a trip. There is so much left out in my 
letters that after they are mailed I wonder what I could 
have said to fill up the pages sent. 

At Lichfield I wrote to the last minute before start- 
ing for Chester. How we got there I don't remember, 
but I suppose it was with the usual protest in my mind 
at the vile way of traveling. I simply hate it, and Tom 
is heard not infrequently praising the American methods 
in contrast with this. As he is always faithful to his 
country, it shows how much common-sense can prevail 
over sentiment. 

Our stay at Chester was full of enjoyment to me, 
everything was so quaint and full of traditions. We 
walked on the walls the evening we got there, and again 
next morning, so that I could make the boast of having 
accomplished with two bites of the cherry as much as 
those who swallow it whole. Then of course the 
" Bows " were endless in their suggestions, but we came 
off clear, I believe, of buying anything. To those who 
have seen the Eows there is no need to describe them; 
and to those who haven't, it would be no use. We went, 
of course, to the cathedral, and Tom took some pictures 
inside, after calling on the Dean for his permission. 

We left in the afternoon for Windermere, where we 
arrived about 7.30; and it was so cold that I was glad of 
the fire in my room which Tom had telegraphed for. 
Next morning we planned to take a boat ride on the 
lake, and rode down to the wharf for the purpose; but a 
fine drizzling rain, a chilly wind and a wet, full boat put 
us quite out of the notion. So we returned to the hotel, 
and contented ourselves with gazing out of the windows, 
which commanded a lovely view in front; and there we 
had the advantage of a warm fire at our backs. Soon it 
was clear and bright, and we took courage to start over 
to Keswick on the Derwentwater by stage, which is the 



482 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

only way. This ride I can never forget. We sat on 
top, wrapped np in our steamer rugs, and I was also 
fortified against the cold by a double set of underclothes; 
so was most comfortable. But the lake views and the 
mountains are quite beyond my pen. You must just 
imagine them. There were some nice conversable peo- 
ple on the stage, through whom we learned a good deal, 
and when to enthuse about Wordsworth, and when it 
was time to begin on Southey and Coleridge. 

We passed by Eydal Mount and lake, and then at 
Thirlmere saw a little mite of a church, said to be " the 
smallest church in England by the side of the deepest 
lake." From this lake Manchester gets its water supply, 
and we saw the works by its side, where the water is 
supposed to be persuaded into the tunnel under it. At 
the little church we all clambered off, and one of our 
passengers in returning got her foot into a hole and 
sprained her ankle. She was very brave about it, but it 
made her look sick; and when we finally got to Keswick, 
instead of offering to go with her to the station, where 
she had to see about her baggage, we calmly got off and 
left her to go on. This spoiled the whole trip to me in 
retrospect, for there is nothing so harrowing as having an 
opportunity to help people and not doing it. Tom felt 
hampered from his usual thoughtfulness by the care of 
me, and I, like a selfish pig, never thought of it until 
it was too late. All the next day while we were wonder- 
ing about Keswick Ave kept wondering where she had 
stopped; but of course not knowing her name could not 
easily find out, and so our late repentance was of no 
avail. 

Keswick is a queer little town, but its surroundings 
are simply perfect. We took a carriage and spent the 
morning investigating the country; — first to see " how 
the water came down from Lodore." Tom was not 
much of a believer in Lodore, for he had a story to tell 



1896. 483 

of a traveler in a vain search for it, inquiring, " Where 
is Lodore falls ? " to which the reply was given, " Why, 
mon, ye're sittin' on it"; so, of course, he — Tom — 
made no calculation on the water. How triumphant I 
was to have it rushing and roaring down its narrow 
chasm, and huge boulders of rocks making the fine spray 
dash over everything. We stood on the little bridge be- 
low and its fascination grew upon us, so wild and reck- 
less was its course, so soft its shade, and so bright its sun- 
shine; and all the wonderful green vines and red berries 
hanging over it. Tom was very provoking, for although 
he admired it as much as I, yet he thought there " would 
probably have been no falls had it not been for the heavy 
rain the night before." Tons of water could hardly have 
come in one night, as for the sake of peace he afterwards 
admitted! We went up after this to the " Bowder 
stone," which is about two miles farther on, up the Der- 
went. It is an immense rock poised on a sharp edge, 
and Tom and I passed a hand under it on either side to 
grasp the other, and " wished for true " while so doing. 
Then we climbed up to the top by a ladder, and I was 
satisfied with one look. It was much too giddy a height 
for me. After this we rode up to Eosthwaite, where we 
found charming lanes and beautiful flowers and perfect 
views, and returned crossing a bridge for the other side 
of Derwentwater. It is simply ridiculous to try to con- 
vey any idea of the wild beauty of this ride, and of the 
calm indifference of the sheep growing fat up on the 
mountain tops, and the little streams beginning like a 
thread and finally rushing in foaming violence to swell 
the waters of the Derwentwater. 

On our return we visited the little church where 
Southey is buried, and where his reclining marble statue 
is shown. When I admired it the old verger said, " Well, 
it ought to be handsome, for it cost eleven hundred 
pounds." At the hotel we met a gentleman and his 



484 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

wife from New York, who were doing up England and 
Scotland on their wheels. They rode a tandem Victor, 
and thought " thirty miles a day was enough for a ride." 
I told her my fifteen on a single wheel might be counted 
as much as her thirty, when her husband was probably 
doing most of the work; which she acknowledged was 
true. 

We left Keswick on Monday noon and came directly 
to Edinburgh, — that is to say, as directly as any travel- 
ing is done here, — with two or three changes. This let- 
ter has been laid aside over and over again for rest to my 
eyes, but I seem never to remember that you don't get 
the same rest, and adding here a little and there a little 
it finally gets to be too long a letter. 

September 4th. 

My letter was interrupted yesterday in the most fas- 
cinating way imaginable. Two letters for M. S. One 
from Carrie at Beach Haven, and the other from Helen 
at Mountain Lake Park. I was in bliss, and sat down 
before the fire and simply reveled in them. If I read 
them over they did not seem long enough; so over and 
over again I studied them up, as if they involved the 
deepest questions or problems to be solved. Carrie's 
amused me greatly in her own estimate of her corre- 
spondent; and I notice she always exaggerates any small 
service done for her, and depreciates what called it 
forth. Those trunks are never done being packed for 
their European trip, and many of the things she tells 
about are simply made up out of her own fertile brain. 
As to Helen, she is always a trump, but from her show- 
ing it seems to me my letters are sown broadcast over the 
land. The arrangement was to send all to Fanny, who 
was to forward immediately to Saide and Alice, not pre- 
suming to think so many people would be interested in 
my doings. If, however, it brings me such letters in 
return, I don't care who reads mine. While I was en- 



1896. 485 

joying yours, Edmund and Katy Brietzeke (Tom's 
nephew and niece) called. I left them infants sixteen 
years ago, and here they were grown up; and Tom says 
it makes him feel terribly old to see them. Katy is a 
very pretty, stylish-looking girl, and Edmund just such 
as Tom himself might have been at his age. We took 
them with us on our little trip around Edinburgh. 

First, of course, up to the castle, which is full of 
interest, not so much to me in the big cannon " Mons 
Meg," but in the fascinating view from it. The crown 
jewels did not appeal to me so much as the room where 
James VI. of Scotland was born, and where his mother, 
" Mary Queen of Scots," had him let down in a basket 
over those giddy rocks in order to save his life by send- 
ing him to Stirling Castle; and he was there baptized 
into the Catholic faith. I always have had a leaning to 
Mary Queen of Scots, and every vestige handed down is 
of value to me. When we went to the Parliament 
House, and I saw the stone in the courtyard marking the 
grave of John Knox, I went and stamped on it, in sig- 
nification of my undying hatred of bigotry and tyranny. 
Katy Brietzeke was highly amused with this childish 
performance, but she entirely united with my senti- 
ments, in spite of her Presbyterian bringing up! Down 
at Holyrood, in Queen Mary's room, she called my atten- 
tion to the little blanket on her bed, about the size of 
a handkerchief, which had been so picked at by stranger 
sightseers that this was all that was left. They now 
have an iron railing around the bed, so there will be 
some covers left to show that the poor Queen did not lie 
out in the cold. All these traces of royalty are very un- 
comfortable-looking, and the old part of Edinburgh is 
made up of the dwellings of celebrities, now inhabited 
by the very lowest class. We went to John Knox's 
house, and I sat on his chair, and wished he had lived 
to see the liberality of the present age. We saw all the 



486 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

old furniture, most of it gathered together as appropriate 
to his times, but never seen by him! I hated the at- 
mosphere of the place, and by this time I was getting 
too tired for appreciation, so we came home to lunch. 
Tom is the housekeeper, so I had no responsibility in 
the matter; and I tell him he succeeds so well that I 
think I shall resign in his favor at 3303! 

We were invited up to Hartington Gardens to tea, 
but instead I stayed home to rest after the young people 
had gone. Tour's aunt and sisters are expected home 
on Tuesday next, and his sister Alice and the Brietzcke 
children(?) are keeping house at Hartington Gardens in 
their absence. Alice has made her home at Cambridge 
while Edmund was going through college, and Katy at 
Girton, but now she will move up to Edinburgh in a 
house by her sisters. 

We expect to break camp here on Monday next for 
the Trosachs, leaving our goods and chattels here till 
our return. We are more and more pleased with our 
homelike quarters, and drop into our home-ways quite 
naturally, Tom reading aloud and M. S. lying on the 
sofa. We were calculating on much cold to contend with 
here, but so far it has been warmer than any place else. 
This morning I had another treat in a letter from Sue 
Ely. which I probably shall not answer; but if anybody 
sees her, please tell her how much it was appreciated. 
Also a small note from Alice to Tom enclosing accounts 
of the Friends' Conference at Swarthmore, which Tom 
has just finished reading to me. I would have been 
much more interested in an account of herself, which 
she studiously avoids giving. As to writing to me, she 
don't pretend to do it, but addresses everything to Tom. 
I write now with my stylograph, and this reminds me to 
tell Sary that my little bag hangs at my side continu- 
ally, and carries my pen and my distance-glasses. In 
consequence of continued use this bag is a little the 



1896. 487 

worse for wear, the cord almost entirely worn off the 
top. It would he as little as she could do to trip over 
here and mend it up, for I have no time! 

Now this long letter must come to an end, and if I 
had told you the interesting things I have left out, you 
would assuredly enjoy it: but I can't go back and do it 
over. I am owing letters to Mrs. Noble and Miss Dan- 
forth, and never get time for anyone but you. I also 
must write a line to Lena and congratulate her on the 
birth of her son last Saturday. We shall not see her 
until our return from the Trosachs, neither will I write 
to you until my return here, so good-bye to everybody, 
with love to all. 

Oh, Fin, thee is a jewel! Such a good welcome as 
we got last night on our return from the Highlands, 
cold and tired! Here spread out on the table were let- 
ters collected in our absence, and though there ought 
to have been a dozen (from my audiences at home), 
there were in fact only three. First of all, thine, tell- 
ing of the gathering in of the clans, and how Lewis and 
Eachel kept their incog on the way up from Washing- 
ton. I share thy disappointment even yet in the lovely 
talks you might have had! And then to know thee saw 
them all at Millbourne, and the picture was perfect of 
the place, the people, the rides, and the talks. Since 
Carrie wrote me such a nice letter, I am quite willing 
my letters should be read to them; but so far as I am 
concerned the round-robin plan has not worked very 
much to my advantage. People seem to think I write 
for fun, when many times it has to be done by dint of 
some effort. Eesponsibility sits lightly on my listen- 
ers or readers, and I am quite willing thee should not 
force people to listen to my tale any more! Alice P. 
has been a disgrace to herself, and even Sary has not 
been her best by any means. Helen is always good, 
and Sarah and Anne were really nice to me; but there 



488 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

are others I could mention, but won't, and simply leave 
them to their own conscience, if such a thing exists. 
All thee tells me of your experiences at Mountain Lake 
Park, Chautauqua, is as familiar as if I lived over mine 
in New York, when Sis and Clem and Saide and I had 
a sort of family life there. We enjoyed the changes of 
entertainments offered, and I am glad thee did fully as 
much as I. Then thy letter tells me of an opportunity 
to inform myself politically in Review of Reviews for 
August. In three lines, perhaps, the papers here com- 
press all the news of North and South America; and yet 
they have columns about the South of Africa, as if that 
were of any interest in cultivated circles! 

Thy remarks about the Bright family and their 
kindness to you bring me to a note which I enclose from 
Tom's aunt, which was one of the three waiting for me 
last night. Fortunately for me Tom has no wish to 
accept the cordial invitation extended; and we are too 
charmingly fixed in our lodgings to be easily tempted 
from our independence. It really felt like coming 
home last night; — our pleasant rooms lighted up, the 
cheerful fire burning, and Janet's cordial welcome, not 
to mention a good dinner awaiting us, made us feel that 
we had been wisely led to come here. 

When I think of having to tell about my trip 
through the Highlands, I simply stop and say to myself, 
" What is the use ? " Nobody could ever take it at 
second-hand, and I can never do justice to it. Well, 
Baedeker for once could not say anything about this 
region, but simply refers to Scott's " Lady of the Lake " 
as the best guide book possible. Now when we dropped 
down — (or climbed up, rather) — to Stirling Castle 
last Tuesday, I was completely at home. " The castle 
gates were open flung," but the drawbridge was no 
longer there; and the " flinty street " I can substantiate 
by my shoes. The streets of Stirling going up to the 



1896. 489 

Castle are about as unpromising a road as one could well 
take, but I remembered about " the coursers' clatter- 
ing feet/' " as slowly down the steep descent Fair Scot- 
land's king and nobles went," etc. Everything was 
there that I had dreamed of in Stirling, and the view 
was simply beyond imagination grand and beautiful. 
We clambered up on the parapets, we walked on the 
ramparts, we peeped through the chambers, we gloated 
over the dungeons, and reveled in the little window 
which was pointed out as the place where the body of 
Douglas was pushed out after he had been stabbed. This 
was not our Douglas, the father of Ellen, but one of his 
ancestors; so I did not much care. I was much more 
interested in the dungeon where Roderick Dhu was 
confined, and where he died; and I said to Tom, " Well, 
he couldn't have lived in such a place, even if he had 
not been wounded." 

September 14th. 
This had to be dropped yesterday on account of my 
aching eyes and no light to speak of! The more I think, 
however, about telling you of my Highland trip, the 
more hopeless it seems; and yet what a heathen I should 
be not to try! We left Edinburgh on Tuesday morn- 
ing, and as Stirling is only thirty-five miles from here, 
we were soon there. Ben Ledi, Ben Venue, Ben 
Lomond and a lot more Bens in full view from the Cas- 
tle. We looked down also on " Cambuskenneth's Abbey 
Grey," and saw in another direction the battlefield of 
Bannockburn. On the way up to the Castle we stopped 
in at G-reyfriars Church, and saw all the ancient and 
modern parts of it, the latter built in 1494, and the 
older part too old to remember. In the churchyard we 
saw the " Martyrs' Memorial," two marble girls, under 
glass, who had suffered martyrdom for their religion by 
being fastened where the rising tide must drown them. 
Only think of the ingenuity of torture in these barbar- 



490 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

ous times! I took great satisfaction in thinking, how- 
ever, that the emphasis they put on principle carried 
conviction finally; but I am like Alice, whose first ques- 
tion in the other world is to be, " Where is Philip II ? " 
When religion can authorize and endorse these horrors, 
there is no use in going to heaven. 

Well, I must not run off into these side speculations, 
but will tell you how Stirling Castle, with its foundation 
of rock and its immense height, realized for me what a 
Castle should be. Then all its associations are familiar; 
and we wandered about it, into the " guard room," into 
the Parliament House, now an armory, and up into the 
Douglas room and King James' tower, and soaked our 
minds with all the stories poured into our ears by the 
guide. Finally we went off to fortify ourselves with 
lunch, and then returned to the fray by riding out to 
" Cambuskenneth's Abbey Grey," where Ellen was ad- 
vised by her father to go in case he did not return. 
Well, it is all a ruin now, only one square tower left; 
and Tom took a picture of it, and of a woman near it 
whom you might recognize! Then we drove to the bat- 
tlefield of Bannockburn, the road leading directly under 
the Castle; and there we found a man who rattled off 
his information without stint. He showed us just where 
Bruce drove the English into a bog; but the little I 
could understand of his talk was not transferable to 
this letter. We ourselves, on the way back, sang " Scots 
wha hae wi' Wallace bled," etc., and felt ourselves in 
the full spirit of the time. 

Finally we got out of Stirling, though we could have 
enjoyed a much longer stay. However, we were soon 
at Callander, where I went to bed, and felt myself for 
the first time all through the day. Callander is at the 
entrance of the Trosachs, and a lovely place to stay 
with one's bicycle! A lovely place to stay even without 
it, but we were not beguiled, because we had so much 



1896. 491 

before us. We started off soon after breakfast next 
morning on top of the tally-ho, as usual, and the ride 
was a series of enchanting and familiar places. Such 
mountains, such lakes, and such coloring; and almost 
before we were told, we knew what each ought to be. 
It was not long before we came to 

" Here Vennachar in silver flows, 
There ridge on ridge Ben Ledi rose/' 

etc., etc., and I think the rest of the passengers must 
have thought we were rehearsing a play, for we were con- 
tinually quoting to each other, or disputing about the 
proper positions for our characters. I was greatly dis- 
gusted to find the " Glasgow Compensation water 
works "were just at " Coilantogle ford,"" and thou must 
keep thee with thy sword," etc. The idea of the immor- 
tal combat being fought out here, where the prosaic 
present almost obliterates the poetry of the situation, 
was not to my taste. It seems that Glasgow draws its 
water from Loch Katrine, and this diminished the flow 
into the river Teith, — (" the windings of the Forth 
and Teith "), — and so they had to build a dam at the 
foot of Loch Vennachar, so as to make it a storage basin. 
This raised Vennachar five feet, and made it overflow 
Llanrich mead and cut down its size one half; while 
Katrine was raised six feet, which so diminished 
" Ellen's Isle " that I was reminded of Edith Fuller, 
who found it "the size of a pocket-handkerchief, and 
not one-quarter big enough to hold all they said was on 
it." In compensation for this, however, we found 
plenty of cliffs where might lie " Eed Murdoch stark 
and stiff," and enough " broom and bracken, heath and 
wood " to have " each warrior vanish where he stood," 
etc., etc. 

Oh, it was all very real; but the incongruity of calm- 
ly riding in an hour through all this historic country 



492 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

which took Fitz-James and Eoderick Dhu ages to get 
through, kept me continually forgetting that our good 
roads are a modern invention. It provoked me, how- 
ever, to find a large and fashionable hotel interfering 
with the romance of this fascinating region. People 
were walking about in fancy costumes, using eye- 
glasses, wearing false fronts and carrying crooks, some- 
times affecting Highland attire; and the men's bare 
knees looked ridiculous, and the women's airy dresses 
were absolutely unsuitable for the place, and altogether 
provoking. I was living in the past, and did not wish 
to be disturbed with the present. This has been " the 
fly in the ointment " to me all through my trip. There 
are too many people who want to see the same thing, 
and where it would be appropriate to have absolute 
solitude the fashionable element asserts itself. Here, 
of all places, where my heroes were waiting to be recog- 
nized, I found commonplace people forever in the way. 
We rode on the tally-ho (called " Fitz-James ") to Loch 
Katrine, then through it on the boat named " Eob 
Boy," and at the other end took another coach on to 
Inversnaid. We passed Eob Roy's cave, but did not 
stop in the rain to see it. I may mention that no day 
is so fine that rain is not a certain part of it, and our 
new waterproofs are simply invaluable. Poor Tom tore 
his in getting out in a hurry to take a picture, but after 
we got back to Edinburgh it was made all right again. 

Now if ever any of you come to Scotland be sure you 
get on the West Highland Railway, which will carry 
you through the grandest scenery imaginable. It is a 
magnificent panorama of mountains and valleys, with 
rushing streams foaming along, and unmelted snows yet 
to come down and add to the beauty. To tell you all 
the rivers we crossed and the lochs we looked down upon 
would mix you up almost as much as I am. Fanny's 
description of the different experiences of all the trav- 



1896. 493 

elers being a complete jumble in her mind, represents 
in a faint way how inextricably my brain is twisted up 
with all that has been presented to it. Well, there are 
some things that can't be explained, of which the West 
Highland Eailway is one. We finally reached Fort 
William after the longest (or the fullest) day of my 
life. Our hotel is up in the air, looking down on Loch 
.Linnhe, a fascinating sheet of water. Here we called 
a halt until afternoon, but we had such a ride! — up 
Glen Nevis nine miles, through the wildest country 
imaginable! We saw plenty of people starting off to 
climb Ben Nevis, and saw the dizzy path zigzagging up 
the mountains, but we saw enough at the foot, and cer- 
tainly never imagined grander scenery. Each moun- 
tain seemed to shut us in completely, and then suddenly 
opened a door into a wide valley where wild flowers 
were blooming and flocks of sheep were feeding, while 
up, up, up, in the sky was the top of Ben Nevis. I 
need not mention that part of this ride was in a drench- 
ing rain, but what cared we with our new water-proofs 
on? As to hats and bonnets, they are so well christened 
now that we have ceased to give them a thought. 

In the afternoon we took the bbat for Oban through 
the lovely Loch Linnhe, and I believe half a dozen other 
lochs, for every time I asked, " What is this lake ? " it 
had a different name. At Oban we found our hotel 
overlooking the whole town and its magnificent harbor, 
and we sat out front and enjoyed the many beautiful 
yachts lying there at anchor. There had been a regatta 
there, and all the famous yachts were in evidence. 
Tom was in his element. After supper we had a mag- 
nificent display of fire-works, each yacht outdoing the 
other; and on the shore a constant fusillade of rockets 
and whizzing, bursting bombs, ending in golden show- 
ers. It realty was a most gorgeous sight, and the even- 
ing was warm and bright, more like American weather 



49-1 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

than we have had since landing. We sat up late, and 
rose pretty early, for it was all too pretty to lose a mo- 
ment of it. Tom and I sat out front looking down at 
the various yachts, beautiful in the morning light, as 
one after another weighed anchor, hoisted sail, and 
drifted like dreams out of the harbor. 

We did not leave Oban until next morning, and cal- 
culated largely on the perfect sunlight when we started 
off in the boat. By the time we reached the Crinan 
Canal it was drizzling, and when we had gone through 
ten locks, and rather enjoyed this primitive way of trav- 
eling, we finally reached the big steamer to go up the 
Clyde. By this time it was pouring, the view was cut 
off, and the people were in crowds. I got very tired, 
and by the time we reached G-ourock, where we took 
the train for Edinburgh, I didn't care whether school 
kept or not. Oh, but we were glad to get here! and I 
am sure you will be glad, too, that this tale has an end. 

September 17th. 

This letter has been written in periods of ten min- 
utes at a time all through the week, and if it is as tire- 
some at your end of the line as at mine, it won't go the 
rounds to my credit. My eyes give me a great deal of 
trouble; and, being otherwise well, I cannot help think- 
ing my glasses are all wrong. In a note from Alice is 
conveyed the late information from Dr. Maguire that 
kidney patients must expect a failure of sight, and why 
he sent me to an oculist I can't see, unless it was to 
spend money unnecessarily. Be that as it may, I am 
quite incapacitated now for reading or writing more 
than a few minutes at a time. Having "jumped into 
the briar bush " (through Dr. Posey, under Dr. 
Maguire's advice), I am now going to " jump into 
another bush," and see if I can " scratch them in again." 
We shall leave Edinburgh early next week and go di- 
rectly to London, to see a certain physician who can 



1896. 495 

pronounce upon my glasses and see what new disease he 
can evolve from my eyes! I am quite tired of kidney 
restrictions, but if it is necessary I, can bear it, as we 
do all things which we have to do. This plan compels 
our leaving out the cathedral towns on the east side of 
England, but Tom says we can easily return to Dur- 
ham and work back again to London in our original 
route. So we'll see! 

I think it was in the beginning of this letter I com- 
plained of my friends not writing, and passed some 
scathing remarks on Sary and Alice (Pearson). Now 
Fll have to take it all back, for day before yesterday I 
had a charming letter from Sary, which Tom had to 
read to me, because my eyes were tied up. Nothing 
could have satisfied me more completely than this let- 
ter. It told me of their life at Monterey, their sudden 
exodus, the trip to Swarthmore, and their return to 
Monterey; but finally that Clem was coming over on 
business. Now I'm afraid that we shall just miss him, for 
she says to write to him at Birkenhead on the 25th, and 
let him know where we are to be found. Well, if I 
know myself, I shall certainly do so, but just now our 
plans are rather mixed, and can only be straightened 
out by our daily experiences. Tom's family are more 
than kind, and are most attentive to me. I am just 
going out with his sisters to Lena's this afternoon, and 
to-morrow we are invited to lunch at a cousin's by the 
name of Glendenning. I would gladly have got out of 
this, but I must be as nice as I can, and they will per- 
haps never find out I am not as nice as I pretend to be. 
Tom is busy trying to get nice presents for his sisters 
and aunts, and yesterday we had quite a shopping ex- 
pedition. There are many temptations here, but I am 
saving up to spend on my eyes in London. If I don't 
write again, you will know it is simply because I can't. 



496 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Edinburgh, September 22d, 1896. 

It is impossible, dear Fin, to resist such a letter as 
thine of September 8th. I have learned to restrict my- 
self to ten minutes at a time, but I " clip along pretty 
fast," as you all know. No time to stop to measure 
words or polish up a sentence; slap-dash! whatever 
comes uppermost goes! Now in this letter thee tells 
me of reading two of my letters at Ellerslie, the last one 
from Lichfield ; and this reminds me that I did not send 
the photographs Tom took at Duffield, which were taken 
under the most unfavorable circumstances possible, 
with no light to speak of. He says they are not fit to 
send, but they will do as illustrations of my letters, per- 
haps. I will also send in this one or two others which 
will explain themselves. 

I have just received a postal from Clem at Liverpool 
in answer to my note, in which he says he may probably 
see us to-morrow evening. It will be a queer thing to 
see a face so familiar. I have been sitting at the win- 
dow here all afternoon, watching the stream of people 
continually going by, wondering what their interests 
can possibly be when they don't know the Sellers fam- 
ily!! It makes me think of 

" Little Turk or Japanee 
Don't you wish that you were me? " 

etc., etc. It has been raining the livelong day, but in 
spite of it we did some errands this morning in. a cab, 
for it is useless to wait for clear weather. 

Most of our time has been given to the cultivation of 
social virtues, in which we are each of us a little slack. 
Tom's relations have been more than kind to me. In- 
deed, they take me in as if I belonged to them. We 
have been out several times to see Lena at Colinton, and 
found her with number four, — all lovely children; and 
her husband was most kind and cordial to us. We must 



1896. 497 

try to go out once more, as she feels so bound down, 
poor girl! She keeps saying, " Oh, Miss Sellers, yon 
are just the very same." And when I said, reproving- 
ly, " Lena, keep to the truth," she replied, " Well, I 
will; you are really nicer and better-looking than ever 
before "; so I had to let her have her way! 

September 23d. 

Before the ten minutes were up I had to lay this let- 
ter aside. The wavering, seasick feeling comes on with 
the least use of my eyes, and I sometimes wonder if I 
can ever write with the old freedom. I know, Fin, thee 
will think it all wrong to go to a doctor in London, but 
I am anxious to test one oculist against another, and if 
my glasses are wrong, it is as well to know it. Here 
they will have to find out about my kidneys, for I won't 
tell; and nobody knows the deprivations I have had 
with my eyes in this condition. Tom simply devotes 
himself to my entertainment, and would stay home all 
the time to read to me if I would let him. It is very 
touching to see how his sisters cling to him, and cannot 
do too much for him, — and for me, for his sake. 

I am quite in love with Edinburgh. It is my ideal 
of a beautiful city, and its traditions are enchanting. 
It is lovely to find a people who like to keep them up, 
and to whom a thing that is old has a value that money 
cannot express. One of the most touching tributes of 
affection I found at G-reyfriars church. Here Walter 
Scott's family are buried, and he bought the lot because 
it was " well out in the country," — but it is now in 
the heart of the town! Here, also, are the old tombs of 
the martyrs, and long inscriptions to their memory. 
Here royalty did not disdain to be buried, and here, 
most touching of all to me, is the grave of " Greyfriars 
Bobby." This little dog followed his master to his 
grave, and watched over it day and night, winter and 
summer, for fourteen years. His master is absolutely 



498 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

unknown. He died in the hospital here, and has no 
record except that Bobby was his dog. At first people 
tried to coax Bobby away, for the faithful little creature 
grew thin, and would have starved had they not sup- 
plied his needs. Sometimes the cruel or the careless 
would throw stones, but he was grit, and stood by his 
post. Finally everyone accepted the fact that this was 
his home, and the whole town adopted him. A kindly 
innkeeper just outside the gates carried him down to 
give him his dinner one day about noon, and ever after 
that when the castle gun was fired at one o'clock, 
(which is done every day), Bobby would run off to get 
his dinner, which was always ready for him, and hurry 
back again. It was nice that this man should not let 
him be a spectacle, but kept his dining-hour quite a 
private affair. It is very touching to see now, outside 
the gates in the center of the street, a little fountain 
erected to his memory, where dogs may drink at the 
foot and people at the top; and one of the pictures en- 
closed will show you one woman about to fill her glass. 
On top of all is the figure of little Bobby, so much like 
dear little Toto that it gave me an ache in my throat. 
His eager, expectant little face is modeled from pictures 
taken of him as he sat on his master's grave, and who 
shall say that such fidelity and faith can be equaled in 
the human race, or that dogs are without souls? It was 
the Baroness Burdett-Coutts who asked permission of 
the city authorities to erect this monument to G-rey- 
friars Bobby, and it has been a center of attraction to 
all. It was in 1858 that his master died, and this faith- 
ful friend watched over him until 1872, when he was 
found dead one morning stretched out on the grave, his 
loving little heart still forever. Tom ssljs he remem- 
bers well the great excitement in town about it. People 
met each other in the street and said, " Did you know 
Greyfriars Bobby is dead ? " as though some great per- 



1896. 499 

sonage had passed away. His grave was made close 
by, and planted with flowers, but they found it impossi- 
ble to keep it in order. Children pulled the flowers, 
and even strangers carried them away; and finally they 
began pulling them up to plant in memory of Bobby in 
their own far-away homes. Now it is simply covered 
with green bushes, but is pointed out with as much pride 
and affection as if he were one of the people. And 
when we think that fidelity and love can be so much 
appreciated, we need not despair over fallen humanity. 

September 24th. 
My letter has to be stopped just when 1 am most 
interested in it myself, but yesterday was a full day 
without letters, and I was switched off to go to Roslyn 
Castle. Tom had invited all the Hartington Gardens 
people to go with us, and Jessie and Ella [his sisters] 
and Katy and Edmund [his niece and nephew] met us 
down town. Here was the big tally-ho, with Mr. John- 
son, the driver, all ready; and as our seats were secured 
in front, we climbed up into them, expecting to start 
off. Not so! this was only the beginning; for we drove 
up and down Princes street as a sort of advertisement 
for Mr. Johnson. He stood up in his red coat and 
white waistcoat and gold chain, and waved his whip to 
all the passers-by, calling out " Dalkeith Castle, Haw- 
thornden and Roslyn " at the top of his voice, and when 
he was not calling, his man Donald at the back took up 
the refrain. We felt all the excitement and enthusiasm 
of the chase, and rejoiced at every new comer. Mr. 
Johnson would call out to Donald, " There's a gentle- 
man, Donald, that wants to go; just look him up "; and 
when Donald had done so, he called back, " Now what 
did he say ? " Donald said, " He didn't say nothing." 
" Well, but didn't he nod his head, or wink his eye ? " 
We found Mr. Johnson a great character, talking the 
broadest Scotch; but I never can give you the full effect 



500 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

of that ride. We simply gave ourselves over to laughter 
and jollity, and if we never seen Roslyn Castle, or any 
of the promised views, the ride and Mr. Johnson would 
have fully repaid the effort of collecting passengers! 

At last we got off with about twenty people, and 
each one was immediately adopted by Mr. Johnson as 
into his family. He recited poetry, he declaimed 
speeches, he talked to the passers-by, and, holding the 
lines in his hands, would turn his back on the horses 
and talk to his family on the coach. One man hesitat- 
ing to cross the street in front of our coach, he called 
out, " Why don't you shift yourself, if you want to 
shift ? " His conversation with us, and with his horses, 
was a queer mixture. He turned to us and called out, 
" Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will look down this 
next street to the left, you will see John Knox's house. 
It stands out plain before me, and if it hadn't been 
John Knox's house it would have been pulled down long 
ago, but being as it was, we keep it forever in the way." 
Then to his horses, " Oh, you rogues, you thought the 
old man was talking, and he wouldn't know you were 
getting slack. Go on, my darlings." Then again in a 
minute or two, " Now, ladies and gentlemen, if ye'U 
look under that next archway to the right, ye will see 
the statue of Livingstone, the great African explorer. 
I am sorry he is no longer in living stone, but only a 
dead marble." And then to his horses, " Gee up, my 
beauties, my darlings," or " my loved ones," as the case 
might be. Out in the country he got funnier as he 
went along, and apologized for talking so much, but he 
said, " I don't want us to ride along as if we were going 
to our grandfather's funeral." To this Ella replied, 
" That depends on how much our grandfather left us! " 
which rejoinder amused him greatly, and I don't doubt 
he added that to his next coachful, although his reper- 
toire seemed endless. He turned to Tom and said, in 



1896. 501 

a low voice, " Is she married ? " and Tom said, " Oh, 
no ! " and then, in a stentorian voice, Mr. Johnson 
shouted, " It won't be long before you are married; 
you're a warrior," whatever that meant. Then he be- 
gan telling us stories of Mary Queen of Scots, and spoke 
in passing Craigmillar Castle, " Now, there is a subter- 
ranean passage there where it is said Mary Queen of Scots 
used to meet Both well, but I misbelieve that. I have 
been in it myself, and I assure you it is not a fit place 
for beggars to meet, much less the fairest lady in the 
land. They said she was the prettiest lady that ever 
set foot in Scotland, but I misbelieve that, too. I have 
seen in my seventy years many prettier ladies, and have 
driven them on my coach, too, and if I wished to be per- 
sonal; — but I say no more." Then to his horses, 
" Now, my loved ones, get along." He called us all 
" dear," especially Tom's party, for he said, " I am 
proud to have six in a party to begin the day, and that 
helped to fill the coach, I know. Oh, it's well to have 
good style to begin with." You will think me foolish 
to run on over this old man so much, but truly he was 
very nice, beside being so amusing, only I can't do jus- 
tice to his talk, nor remember the half of it. 

When we got to TIawthornden some of the passen- 
gers got off to walk through it to Eoslyn instead of rid- 
ing around. Tom and Katy and Edmund walked, 
among others, but as it was not less than a mile and a 
half I concluded not to try it, and Jessie and Ella stayed 
with me; and as the ride was perfect, we were not sorry 
to have stayed in the coach. Finally Mr. Johnson set 
us down as near as he could drive to the Castle, and with 
many directions and much parting advice he left us, 
promising to pick us up again at Eoslyn Chapel. 

My forte is not in describing scenery, else I might 
give you a perfect picture of this, so wild and free, with 
the Esk river flowing rapidly at the foot of the great 



502 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

hills. We crossed it on a rustic bridge, and I thought 
of young Lochinvar, who " swam the Esk river where 
ford there was none." It is a very pretty stream, full 
and rushing tempestuously along under the depths of 
shade, and glinting out in the sunlight when there is 
any. We passed by some miners' cottages before we 
crossed the river, and found four or five bicycles leaning 
against the fence. The riders found that there is a 
point beyond which no bicycle can go. On the other 
side of the river we sat down and ate our lunch, which 
the girls had brought, and it was so good. Then we 
clambered up the hill to the ruins of the Castle, where 
we waited for the pedestrians. I was greatly taken with 
a little Scotch boy who was our guide, and his talk in 
broadest Scotch resounded with rolling K's. He showed 
us a litter of Collie pups only a few days old, and offered 
to give me one of the prettiest if I would wait three 
weeks, when they could do without their mother. It was 
a great temptation, for the mother was a perfect beauty; 
and I thought even Sadie, with her fine ideas of dogs, 
would not have despised this one. I could have con- 
tented myself there very well if October 8th had been 
farther off, but no delay in that date can be admitted 
into our minds. We are both ready for the homeward 
trip, although we have enjoyed every minute of our 
stay, and talk confidently of coming again to finish up 
so many things we have been obliged to leave out. 

Well, Eoslyn Castle is only a ruin, so the dogs were 
the most interesting part of it. They had their home 
under one of the arches, and we left them regretfully. 
When we all got together we made short work of the 
Castle becouse of a heavy dash of rain, but when we got 
to the chapel we lingered longer. It is very beautiful, 
with its wonderful stone carvings, and there we saw 
the " 'prentice's pillar," with a carved wreath around 
its fluted columns, and for this extra touch he was 



1896. 503 

struck down by his master, so the story goes. Well, I 
can't give yon any idea of this pretty little chapel, but 
its traditions are most interesting. We had to leave it, 
and so must you ; and we all finally climbed on the coach 
again, welcomed by Mr. Johnson and Donald. He en- 
tertained us all the way back with innumerable anec- 
dotes about Johnson and Boswell, and called attention 
to the fact that his name was Samuel Johnson, too. I 
will try to keep him out of my letter now, only follow 
my advice and his invitation when you want to go to 
Eoslyn, and ask for " The Favorite," the name of his 
coach, and for Samuel Johnson, who will be a father to 
you on the trip. 

We came home in a driving storm of wind and rain, 
but being well wrapped up I felt that even Alice could 
not get up any fears about me! We reached Edinburgh 
about five, and after we had climbed down from the 
coach and said good-bye to Mr. Johnson, who made a 
little speech in parting, we separated to our different 
homes. They wanted us to go with them to Harting- 
ton Gardens, but I was too tired, and besides we thought 
there was a chance of Clem's coming. Sure enough, we 
had just got into a carriage, and Tom was in a shop, 
when Clem met him, and we soon bundled him in and 
took him home to dinner. It seemed very refreshing 
to get sight of a home face, and we chatted about home 
people and politics, and everything else. Our fire was 
burning brightly, and Clem thought we were in clover; 
and after a good dinner we all felt better and more 
talkative than ever. Clem was looking his best, but 
complained of the searching air, of which you have al- 
ready heard enough through these letters. He promised 
to come back, if possible, this morning and say good-bye, 
but as it was more than doubtful I have concluded to 
make a few calls with Tom. 

. . . Well, now, I am back again, and found Clem's 



504 THE STOKY OP A LIFE. 

card saying he had half an hour to spare, and was sorry 
to miss us. We were sorry too, but every minute now is 
full, as we start for London in the morning. As soon 
as I get a little rested this afternoon we are going out 
to Colinton to say good-bye to Lena, and then on to 
Hartington Gardens for supper and a final good-bye. 
Some packing is yet to be done, and this letter must be 
finished in London, for neither time nor eyes will allow 
a word more here. 

London, Sunday, September 27th. 
Just as we were starting from Edinburgh on Friday 
morning thy letter came, dear Fin, with some of Alice's 
scraps in it. Also one came from Alice herself. Poor 
thing, I did not realize how poorly she had been, else 
I would not have been so cross about her not writing. 
My only excuse is that I always get cross when I am 
anxious or scared. I also received by the same mail a 
dear little note from Sue Ely, written expressly in honor 
of my birthday, — October 2d, — which she never for- 
gets. I only scanned these various letters before start- 
ing, for Jessie and Ella came down in the rain to see us 
off, and I had my manners on; but when we got fairly 
out of Edinburgh I enjoyed them all. It was a pouring, 
pitching rain when we left, and continued so the live- 
long day. Tom's fine plan of showing me the eastern 
coast of England went for naught, as everything was 
shrouded in this thick atmosphere. We began our 
growls on the beastly English methods of traveling be- 
cause we were shut up in a compartment with three 
ladies and two children. They were nice little chil- 
dren and as pretty as pictures, but they soon began to 
express what we were suppressing, and this was done in 
crying — first one of them and then the other, and 
sometimes both together. The poor young mother did 
her best; when one was pacified picking up the other, 
both being babies under two years. I said to her sym- 



1896. 505 

pathetically, "A mother's work is never done," to which 
she replied bravely, " That is very true, but then there 
comes a day "; by which I suppose she meant a day of 
compensation. 

It was a long and tedious ride, from ten in the morn- 
ing until seven in the evening, and by the time we 
reached London my nerves were tense, being played on 
so long by the wails of these children. Otherwise it 
would have been a very enjoyable ride. We found be- 
fore we left Edinburgh that there was a cab-strike in 
London, so Tom telegraphed for a 'bus, which we found 
awaiting us; and soon all our baggage was piled on 
top (in the rain) and we were quickly driven to the Der- 
went. I was glad that the young mother and her chil- 
dren were met by Dada, who was rejoiced to see them. 
She had been making a visit to her mother in Edin- 
burgh for three weeks, and one of her sisters returned 
with her to help about the children. 

Well, I was glad to have them off my mind, and 
found the little " Derwent " very nice to crawl into, 
with a fire in my room, which looked a cheerful wel- 
come. We slept late and long, but finally started off to 
see Dr. Bader, which was our reason for coming. Tom 
had written to him, and we found his reply here mak- 
ing an appointment for me, so you may be sure I was 
there on time. He was an elderly man with a big repu- 
tation, and I counted much on his opinion. Well, it 
did not take him five minutes to find that my glasses 
were wrong, " too strong, and emphasizing a slight as- 
tigmatism which need never have been noticed." He 
said, " The veins are very much congested, which shows 
a poor circulation; but your glasses have been making 
it worse all the time." Then I asked him if he saw any- 
thing which different glasses would not cure, and he 
replied, " Nothing ": and it was my intention to hug 
him on the spot, but I didn't! He laid great stress on 



506 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

my poor blood, which I inwardly resented, and asked 
him how I could help that. He said, " Drink port wine 
twice a day, and eat more," — as if I could! Well, 
finally, when he kept harping on my poor blood, I asked 
him if kidney trouble might not be the cause, and he said 
carelessly, " Oh, yes, it might, but you have no deposit 
indicated in your eyes"; so again I didn't hug him, 
though I wanted to! He gave me a prescription for 
glasses, and also for a wash to relieve the inflamed condi- 
tion, and told me that when I got the simple magnify- 
ing glasses which he was giving me, instead of the com- 
plex things I was wearing, I could write and read as 
much as I liked. By this time hugs were not enough, 
but I kept down my impulse, and came away with new 
life. The glasses have yet to be tested, and he advises 
wearing them all the time, which I hate, but must try 
to do. He charged me a guinea, and said I need not 
come again, as it was a very plain case. Now this is in 
great contrast to Dr. Posey, who kept me coming day 
after day and charged accordingly. My glasses are now 
being changed, and I am living in hopes of better times. 

From my long letters you would hardly think my 
eyes affected, but I assure you the scrappy way in which 
these letters were written was the only thing that made 
them possible. Fortunately for you, I shall not be over 
here much after getting my new glasses, so you need 
not expect my letters to double up in proportion to my 
sense of ease. I only hope things will turn out as he 
says, for this has been the one fly in the ointment to me 
on the trip. 

Last night Tom came in, bringing me a little note 
from Beatrix Tyson, offering to come to see me, or do 
anything for me in the way of shopping, etc. It was 
very sweet of her, and I shall send her a reply telling of 
my plans. These plans are to get out of London as soon 
as possible, perhaps on Tuesday morning, and go back 



1896. 507 

on our tracks to Durham, see the cathedral there, and 
come back to London by the following Tuesday, visit- 
ing the various cathedral towns on our way. Then one 
whole day here, to get our things in order for the 
"Massachusetts" next daj', October 8th!! After that 
you may hope the best for a good voyage, a safe land- 
ing, and the end of this correspondence. I hope we can 
see Beatrix, but it does not come in as very likely, un- 
less our plans are changed. I am quite willing to rest 
to-day, and Tom is reading aloud " The Master," by 
Zangwill, a book so full of sadness and struggle as to 
quite oppress us both. I remember hearing snatches of 
it at Mountain Best last year, when I was reading 
" Lorna Doone " to Sary. It was a great contrast to 
that prose poem, but now I like the lesson conveyed, — 
that pleasure is never satisfying, or success either, but 
simply becoming master of one's self, which is the end 
and aim of life's discipline. 

Yesterday, after going to get my glasses changed, 
we drove to the office of the Atlantic Transport Com- 
pany to see that all was right for our sailing, and they 
assured Tom that " the best stateroom on the ship was 
reserved for Miss Sellers"; and that satisfied him en- 
tirely, and made me feel rather undeserving of so many 
good things heaped up for me. Tom travels like a 
prince, as if there were no end to the money, which has 
held out wonderfully; but in view of the many presents 
he has made at " home," (Hartington Gardens), — he 
yesterday cabled for a fresh supply, and so we go on 
in our luxurious course. Now this is the last letter, un- 
less I receive some very tempting bait before leaving; 
so good-bye, and " God bless us every one," as Tiny Tim 
used to say. Tom sends love with mine. 



508 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

London, October 4th, 1896. 
Here we are back again in London, and I promised 
you and myself too that there would be no more letters 
to write, but to find such a charming mail is quite an 
irresistible thing. First and rarest, a lovely letter from 
John. I thought he could not resist my appeal, for he 
knows from experience what it is to seem forgotten in 
a foreign land! Well, before I took off my bonnet I 
read and enjoyed every word he wrote, and commend 
them for deciding to stay at Millbourne. Now that I 
am in the land of traditions and long ancestry, it seems 
quite too crude to live at 3300 Arch Street, when the 
ancestral acres are weighed in the balance. As to the 
business part, I say yes decidedly to the arrangement 
proposed. I have no feeling for the Blockley lot except 
to get money out of it, the more the better, and Way- 
side farm likewise! 

The next of the letters awaiting me was thine, dear 
Fin, and it was especially good in thee to write when 
thee had received nothing from me, although I don't see 
why thee had not? I think I sent three letters from 
Edinburgh, one on my arrival, one just before going to 
the Trosachs, and one after my return. I have a feel- 
ing that I rather dragged you through these fascinating 
places: — everything I could say was prosaic in contrast 
to the subject. This brings me to a point which needs 
expression. When Sary wrote and told me of copying 
part of one of my letters and sending it to Miss Crocker, 
I passed it by in scorn, but when thee calmly confesses 
to getting crowds together to listen, and implies that I 
hardly know the people, it really gives me a turn. Per- 
haps it has never occurred to you that these very people 
are laughing to themselves over this weakness of yours, 
and congratulate themselves that Fanny Garrett had the 
sense to retire from the presidency of the Century Club, 
since she has proved herself so simple, and Mrs. Smyth 



1896. 509 

is also well out of her official duties there! My own 
reputation must take care of itself, but certainly yours 
will suffer! I pass this gentle reminder that you may 
remember how little people care for my travels, and 
how easy it would be for you to entertain your friends 
without lugging me into it! 

Now Helen's letter was charming. She wrote it for 
my birthday, and if I had been in London it would have 
reached me on the morning of October 2d, which shows 
her neat calculation. I had a letter from her just be- 
fore starting off for Durham, and I have promised to 
read it to Beatrix Tyson when she comes to see me to- 
morrow. It would be eminently proper if I collected 
the transients in the Derwent and made them sit still 
while I regaled them with your letters, but I have some 
regard for my own reputation, if not for yours! 

Another letter in the lovely batch awaiting me, was 
from Miss Danforth. She wrote from Italy, and was 
just preparing to start northward. She is to arrive in 
London on the 6th, and says, " You never can know 
how much I want to see you/' and has timed her arrival 
to catch us before we sail. Now that the time ap- 
proaches, we both feel impatient and yet regretful, as 
if we might have seen more in the time we have had. 
I am sure if Fanny and Helen had come with us they 
would not have contented themselves to wait our slow 
motions, which, after all, seemed unavoidable. We 
seem to be continually drifting back to London, but 
that is the fault of social claims calling us hither and 
yon, and finally my visit to Dr. Bader. I wish I could 
tell you that my eyes are all right again, but though 
the change of glasses is a great relief, I still have to be 
very careful in the use of my eyes — (and it is almost 
impossible to wear spectacles all the time); — but I am 
at least far more hopeful than before, which is half the 
battle. I started off to Durham on Tuesday last in a 



510 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

very low spot indeed, because my eyes pained me as 
much as before the change of glasses; but patience is 
not one of my virtues. Well, we reached Durham just 
at nightfall, and I went straight to bed at the Three 
Tuns Inn, where they greet every guest with a glass of 
cherry bounce! It went right to the spot with me, and 
it was repeated with good effect next day. I found Dr. 
Bader's method of improving my blood through port 
wine does not suit me, as it is quite too heavy for my 
ethereal nature! 

On Wednesday Tom and I started off right after 
breakfast to Durham, and drove directly to the cathe- 
dral; and to see it on the outside thoroughly we crossed 
the Wear, and rode up on the banks of this charming 
little river, shaded by lovely trees, and the cathedral 
apparently a part of the precipitous rocks overhanging 
the stream. We simply feasted our eyes on its beauti- 
ful proportions, and reflected on the devotional spirit 
which erected this shrine for the remains of Saint Cuth- 
bert in 999! It is a solid enough memorial, and by far 
the most majestic of any cathedral we have yet seen. 
We finished our drive in time for the services at ten 
o'clock, and heard the music resounding through these 
vaulted ceilings and pillared walls, and watched the lit- 
tle choir boys in their very unnaturally serious devo- 
tions. Their enthusiasm probably kept them warm, but 
mine didn't, and we tiptoed out before the services were 
over. We drove over to the castle, now used as a uni- 
versity, and there saw the most wonderful old oak stair- 
case, perfectly black with age and beautifully carved. 
We were glad to see that the students are compelled to 
use the stone staircase, which they cannot batter to 
pieces, as they would this if they had a chance. We 
went up to the very top, and saw the old Gorman gal- 
lery on which the dormitories of the students now open. 
This castle was built by William the Conqueror in 1072 



1896. 511 

or thereabouts; — I don't pretend to be accurate as to 
dates, and have no time to look it up. It is full of line 
old paintings and portraits, but as Eli used to say, " I 
would not have recognized them." 

We wandered through the various rooms, and if Tom 
were writing this letter instead of me he could tell you 
what each one was used for; but they are all quite mixed 
to me now, and I am sure you don't care. Then we 
went back to the cathedral, which is full of interest; and 
we got hold of a good guide, who told us what we ought 
to admire and what was unworthy of notice. Among 
other things he showed us a well only lately discovered, 
and which was marked in the wall by a niche and a 
round stone in the floor in front of it. They had long 
been anxious to investigate the meaning of these marks, 
but the authorities were slow to give their consent. 
Finally, however, permission was granted; and they 
found it a draw well, the water of which came under the 
river from the hills on the other side, far away. He also 
told us about the confirmation of the traditions in re- 
gard to St. Cuthbert, whose remains are now identified, 
with all the gold and silver communion vessels in his 
tomb, now used on state occasions. Also the tomb of 
the " venerable Bede," one of the earliest chroniclers of 
England. All this is very satisfactory to antiquarians, 
but I believe the proportions of the cathedral and its 
wonderful stone carved roof and its majestic columns 
pleased me most. Even this, wandering about and 
breaking my neck in looking up, finally tired me out; 
and we went back to the hotel to rest awhile before 
starting off for York. 

When we got there we had time to drive before dark, 
which we did, not attempting the cathedral until next 
morning. We took a carriage at the station, driven by 
a big man with a gentle voice. We went directly to the 
hotel, and Tom went in to select the rooms, and have a 



512 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

fire made in mine. The driver and I were left to each 
other's company for awhile, and there was something so 
pathetic abont him that I tried to entertain him a lit- 
tle, to which he responded with his soft eyes and plead- 
ing manner. We drove to one of the gates of the old 
city, and Tom and I walked on the walls, which are bat- 
tlemented, — not like Chester, for here we could only 
see now and then through the cuttings for the guns. It 
was very quaint and suggestive of warlike times, and 
some little girls arm-in-arm skipping around seemed a 
cheerful contrast to the barbarous pictures forced on 
our imaginations. 

Our driver met us at the next gate, " Bootham 
Bar/' where the Lord Mayor's walk begins. We had 
walked enough, however, for one of the party; and our 
gentle driver showed us many things of interest before 
taking us back to the hotel. There in a burst of confi- 
dence he told us that he had " made one sad trip to- 
day." He had taken his wife to the hospital, where she 
was to be operated on for internal cancer; and then he 
quite broke down and finally said, " Oh, she is a good 
woman; she is a prize to any man, and the best wife a 
man could have. I greatly fear it will go hard with 
her." We tried to comfort him by saying such cases 
were sometimes entirely cured, but he smiled his gentle 
little unbelieving smile and left us, and I thought of 
u Eab and his friends." The picture of this great 
strong man, with his burden too heavy for him, comes 
up to me in thinking of York, even before its wonderful 
minster. The next morning we went to see this cathe- 
dral, the largest and grandest in England, as Baedeker 
says, but somehow it failed to impress me as much as 
Durham, although much more ornate. The roof is of 
timber, painted to resemble stone; but Durham is the 
real thing. The ornamentation even on the outside is 
wonderful, with its flying buttresses and grotesque 



1896. 513 

gargoyles, but the main impression made upon my mind 
was the perfectly beautiful stained glass. It dates away 
back in the fourteenth century, but that is getting to 
seem tolerably modern to my educated eyes! I am sure 
you won't care for any accurate description, even if I 
could give it; so I may just tell you we left for Lincoln 
in the afternoon, where we drove directly to the cathe- 
dral, and saw it well before dark. Again I was charmed 
with the magnificent glass, and still in spite of its many 
decorations I remained faithful to Durham. We went 
.round the town next, and saw the " Jews' House," said 
to be the oldest specimen of architecture in England, 
and also drove to Aaron the Jew's house, whoever he 
was. I don't know and I don't believe you do either! 
There is a perfect old Norman window in it, which I 
have now learned to distinguish by the round arch. 
Then we went to John of Gaunt' s stables, where I got 
out for a minute to look into it, and Tom immediately 
snatched a picture. We did not linger long at Lincoln, 
but left for Ely early in the afternoon. 

At Ely we knew there was nothing to see but the 
cathedral, which loomed up high and grand long before 
we got to the place. Now I am getting so mixed about 
the various merits of the different cathedrals that I'm 
sure you will find me out, but this one stands out clearly 
as the one with three towers, the central one of octagon 
shape, which is very individual. We found an intimate 
friend here most unexpectedly in the verger, who 
seemed to take a special interest in us, and after showing 
us everything that everybody else sees offered to take 
us up into the great west window, some seventy or 
eighty feet up, where we could look down the full 
length of the cathedral. I am not partial to great 
heights, but it was a rare chance, and he assured me I 
should not jump down, which I didn't, as you see, 
though I felt like it. The glass in Ely is all too modern 



514 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

for me, that lovely silver grey of the old glass being lost 
in the more modern and cruder colors. After the usual 
buying of photographs we took the train on to Cam- 
bridge, where I went to bed, with milk for supper; 
which in this fen country is one of the richest and most 
satisfactory of meals. Now don't you think I had a 
right to be tired after such a day? Well, I was; and I 
felt when I went to bed that for once my birthday was 
well spent. 

I must not forget to tell you that Tom gave me an 
opera glass for my anniversary, and I expect to use it 
on Tuesday night when we are to go see Irving and 
Terry in " Cymbeline." Now this play, which is usually 
not fit to be seen, has been remodeled by Irving, and 
cut to such an extent that Shakespeare himself would 
not recognize it, and everyone is going wild over it 
here. It was only out about a week before we left for 
Durham, and we tried in vain to get tickets. It always 
reminds me of Will Sellers taking Sallie Wierman to 
see it when she was staying at Millbourne, and when she 
told me about it afterwards I laughed till I was tired. 
She said, " Neither Will nor I could say a word about 
the play, so we talked about everything else all the way 
out." I hope I shall be as discreet, but doubt it. 

To go back to my journey: we took the train from 
Ely to Cambridge, only about half an hour, and I was 
again too tired for anything but bed. However, in the 
morning I was ready for the fray, and after breakfast 
we drove out to see Alice, Tom's sister, who has been 
living here for the past three years, in order that Katy 
might go to Girton and Edmund to Corpus Christi Col- 
lege. They are expecting to move in the spring up to 
Edinburgh, where we met them on their holiday visit. 
We had a long talk with Alice, who is much interested 
in all forms of mental philosophy, and just now quite 
an authority on palmistry. She told my character from 



1896. 515 

the lines in my hand, the right hand representing the 
natural one, the left hand what I had made of it! Now 
this was all hocus pocus to me, but she made some good 
hits both with Tom and me, and told Tom he would be 
" married twice" which appalled him to such an extent 
that he snatched his hand away. She said I had " ex- 
cellent judgment and great influence over people," — 
so, Fin, thee can weave that into thy paper on " uncon- 
scious influence," for its practical results are not visible, 
and my own opinion is just the contrary, since I only 
hold my ground with people by personality, and lose it 
when out of sight. 

When Edmund came in he drove with us round 
Cambridge. We went into King's Chapel, where they 
have wonderful glass and good carvings, and the ceiling 
is really a wonder. I was not going to break my neck 
again looking at it, " so that we left behind," and went 
to see Corpus Christi College, and its quaint old 
" Quad," surrounded by charming antiques of houses, 
and where, Edmund said, "the fellows here like to 
room because all the Dons are outside." We stopped at 
all the colleges and admired the grounds, and went in 
at Newnham in honor of its being a college for women, 
but we did not drive out to Girton, which was two miles 
off. We saw the Hobson conduit, which interested us 
because this was the veritable Hobson of " Hobson' s 
choice." Then we took a ride around the " Backs," 
which is a perfect drive by the river at the back of all 
the colleges. We went past " Christ's pieces " and 
" Jesus Close," and other irreverently-named grass 
parks. Edmund says that the Biblical names of the 
colleges tend to very awkward results at the boat-races, 
when adherents of different crews will shout, " Co it, 
Jesus!" or "Well done, Christ!" At Oxford to avoid 
this the Jesus College is called Josser, so I hope they 
have been taught by sad experience to be more secular. 



516 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

We went back to Alice's for tea, and took the train 
for London at 4.43, arriving here about six; and found 
ourselves well paid for getting back a day ahead of our 
programme. To-day we will do a great deal of our 
packing, so as to leave to-morrow free to attend to some 
last few errands. My clothes are a disgrace by this 
time, but I get no dresses, for I really can't contend 
with the thing when there is so much else to do. As to 
mending up my clothes, I don't do it, nor even darn our 
stockings. There will be a day of reckoning when we 
get home, and these last days will be all too full. 

When I think of how many letters I have written, 
it seems to me you ought to feel very intimate with me 
when I get home, and that you ought not to be satisfied 
without seeing me very often; — but — we'll see! I 
hope John and Carrie took their clock out to Mill- 
bourne, for I always miss it so when I see that corner 
empty, and I think I would have taken the books too. 
Since reading John's letter I have been arranging them 
through the house at Millbourne, — but maybe they 
know their own business without my putting my fingers 
in their pie. Since thee tells me about Amalie being 
maid-of -all-work at Clifton, I have been also arranging 
for her to lessen her work by having them all eat in that 
new kitchen! I can't imagine her ever soiling her hands 
with any work, but as / have at times, I know how to 
save them, as also my steps. My meddlesome disposi- 
tion has also invaded William's affairs, in the matter of 
his building that kitchen without convenient stairs to 
the dining-room, but then he has always been strong, 
and don't have to count his steps. Wait till he sees my 
kitchen, and how much can be made out of nothing. I 
can't make space, but I can utilize what I have. Well, 
I shall be obliged to let you manage your own affairs, 
although I am so much more capable at doing it!!! 

I write this on Monday morning, when my thoughts 



1896. 517 

from long habit take a prosaic and practical form. We 
are going out rain or shine to-day, but yesterday we just 
gathered our trunks together in my room and packed. 
When I was tired I took to the sofa, and Tom read 
aloud to me. We are now in the midst of " Hereward 
the Wake " by Kingsley, and we are going over it now 
because we have just been in the fen country where he 
was born. When we were in Devonshire we read " West- 
ward Ho " because the hero was born in Biddeford; and 
we revelled in Clovelly. After we passed the Scilly 
Islands and got into reading quarters we read Armorel 
of Lyonesse to entertain my resting hours, because the 
heroine was born on Sampson, one of the Scilly Isles, 
and made us so familiar with all their beauties. Tom 
got " The Master," by Zangwill, for our ship reading, 
but we got so interested in it at Edinburgh we simply 
had to finish it. Now we will have to get something 
else for the voyage. Tom is to meet Miss Danforth to- 
morrow morning, and she will probably come here, un- 
less she has other boarding engaged; so she will see 
us off on Thursday. I expect Beatrix this afternoon, 
and think it was very sweet in her to want to come. 
Tom wants me to send you all his- best regards, and to say 
that he hopes to bring me home safe and sound. Cer- 
tainly if he don't it will not be his fault, for he sort of 
doubles up his attentions with his sense of responsibil- 
ity, which is far too great. 

Now this is positively the last, and don't dare to say 
you are glad of it. We look forward to Thursday with 
a sense of hurry, and an expectation of calm content 
when we are " outward bound " with our faces toward 
the West. 

Good-bye, good-bye, to each and all and " God bless 
us every one!" 



518 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 28th, 1896. 

If I forget my manners, dear Fin, yon will all wish 
me back in Europe. After my lovely visit with yon I 
might have made my acknowledgments sooner, bnt such 
industry as I have pnt forth since my return left me no 
time for the fine arts. Another thing; I have had such 
a blow in trying the bicycle, and finding my legs give 
out. Oh, you have no idea of my limping condition; 
going up and downstairs with a groan at every step, 
and, in spite of my high health, feeling myself so 
" misable." Finally I have concluded it is not the 
bicycle, but the climate that has given me these aching 
limbs. Somehow I have taken cold, and Miss Peirce, 
who called yesterday, strongly advised me to stay in 
bed for a week, as she had to, after her visit to England 
long ago. She thinks I must get acclimated after the 
invigorating air in which I have been living. Well, in- 
stead of bed I have spent a good deal of the day up in 
the loft, trying to get order out of chaos. . . . 

We tried the bicycle on Monday evening for a few 
squares only, and again on Tuesday morning, but it was 
hard work, and I must wait for better legs before start- 
ing off again. As to giving up this accomplishment, 
it is not to be thought of. We have been intending to 
go out to Millbourne, but I cannot entertain them 
with groans, so must wait a while. 

My few neighbors have called and welcomed me 
home, and I feel as if I were fast settling into my rut. 
Tom has just brought home " The Martian," and I must 
hurry off this miserable scrawl to listen to that fascinat- 
ing story. I wish Du Maurier could have lived, and 
Hamilton Gibson too, both of them giving us so much 
enjoyment, and both beyond our praise or blame now. 
It seems rather sad to see in this last Harper, articles 
from each, as though death made no difference to our 
enjoyment, however it may affect theirs. There is also 



1896. 519 

an article on " The First President of the United 
States," and in looking over it I could not help con- 
trasting his dignity with Bryan's bombast and misrule. 
Let us hope a better fate awaits ns than snch a Presi- 
dent. 

I have just received a notice from the Century Club 
inviting all its members to be there the evening of 
November 3d, to get the election returns, playing whist 
meanwhile; which seems to me rather incongruous for 
such wild excitement. A more attractive invitation 
comes from the Literature section for every Thursday 
afternoon, beginning November 12th, on " Novels " ; 
first, Agnes Eepplier on the " English Novel." Next 
on the list is William Lyon Phelps on the " Modern 
Novel "; he speaks several times during the course, and 
is said to be well worth hearing. Mrs. Edward Long- 
streth speaks on " Scotch Novelists, Past and Present," 
and it all looks very promising. . . . 

Thy little party at your house touched me very 
much, and I felt the reviving effects of my absence. It 
does not do to be too common and everyday an affair, 
and as soon as I see signs of my popularity waning I 
shall take up the line of marclr again, for certainly it 
agrees with me. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 10th, 1896 
When thy little letter came yesterday, dear Fin, I 
was just thinking to myself, " I might just as well be 
in Europe; indeed better, for then they would write 
to me." I began to feel quite hungry for news, and 
indignant at your washing your hands of me, but just 
then I sat down to breakfast, and found the orange 
marmalade so good, and I said to Tom, " I don't believe 
I ever thanked Helen for this, did I? " Well, he 
couldn't tell, and I cannot either; but I think as long as 
I live in such a glass house I had better not throw 



520 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

stones. When the millennium comes, people will see 
each other as they mean to be, and not as they appear, 
and will believe 

" That some slight good is also wrought 
Beyond self-satisfaction; 
When we are merely good in thought, 
Howe'er we fail in action." 

I am glad thee is going to Boston, out of the atmos- 
phere of dressmaking, and into the elevating inspirations 
of Florence. It is quite easy to me to see why thee gets 
a lift in her society, but I am still in the dark as to how 
thee throws dust into her intellectual vision. She must 
know thee is not so smart as thee pretends to be! Wlien 
thee comes back, thee will sail off into thy paper on 
" Unconscious Influence," and I will go to hear it de- 
livered; and when the clapping and applauding is over, 
I will step to the front, and say: " She has just been to 
Boston! " and then they will know how to rate thee. 
For every reason I am glad thee is going; first, to get 
away from dressmaking, which in itself is an " uncon- 
scious influence " towards depression. No matter how 
high the ambition, (and I consider thine unequaled), 
there is in these prosaic details a vast pit of groveling 
thoughts to bridge over, and woe be to the individual 
(like myself) who cannot keep a steady head over this 
chasm. 

Yesterday I tried to fix my ship-dress into a bicycle- 
suit, and in relining the sleeves I arranged it so that I 
could not possibly get my arms in, which I found after- 
wards was on account of putting the wrong lining into 
the right sleeve, and sewing it up for all time. Discour- 
agement sometimes takes me by the throat, and almost 
strangles me with the thought of being no good at any 
practical thing. I said to Tom last night, " If one of 
my sisters had that to do, she would think nothing of 
it, and it would almost go together of itself; but I have 



L896. 521 

no sense/' Of course he tried to comfort me with the 
thought of my many perfections, but the gronnd was 
effectually cut from under me, and I felt that I had no 
standing whatever. Now I have simply turned my back 
on the whole thing, and will not look at it until some 
" unconscious influence " gives me a boost. I look at 
my wardrobe in despair, and if my ambition in dress 
were equal to thine, I should simply collapse because of 
my inefficiency. 

Thee talks about my pluck in riding the bicycle, and 
yet I do not dare to go alone, and sometimes wonder 
(when my legs ache the worst) if I am not " paying 
pretty dear for my whistle." Harry Bancroft and I rode 
out to Millbourne on Saturday last, coming home by 
the way of the Park, in all eleven miles, and I have been 
bathing in Pond's Extract ever since. 

This morning I had engaged to go out with Miss 
Laura Steel, and because she found she couldn't go, I 
simply gave it up without a pang. This evening I am 
expected to be " fresh and rested " (as Tom says), to 
go to the Symphony concert, to hear Melba. In conse- 
quence I take no ventures on the bicycle to-day. 

Yesterday I wrote my formal resignation as Secre- 
tary, and was much depressed by this necessity, as it is 
the only work at the Hospital which is not a " horrid 
grind " to me. It was no longer a matter of choice, 
however, as my eyes give me too much pain and dis- 
tress to risk so much strain. It is more than I can do 
to keep up a little intercourse with my family, and thee 
would not like it if I saved off of thee for the hospital, 
instead of the reverse. To drop out of usefulness is 
always depressing, and I try to believe that " when one 
door shuts, another will open," but peeping through the 
crack does me no good. 

When thee writes thy paper on " Unconscious In- 
fluence " do not neglect to emphasize the necessity of 



522 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

keeping in the way of good, as peradventure a little of 
the divine afflatus may leak into the empty crevices of 
our lives, and fill them with inspirations of hope, and 
promises of a fuller life, which of itself is happiness. 
So long as we do not have all our faculties in use and 
brightened up by the friction of life, just so long will 
we lose our chances of contentment. 

I am sometimes disposed to even force myself to 
sew, thinking thereby eventually to evolve some latent 
talent for dressmaking, and so justify some self-respect. 
Does thee advise it? If not, then please say something 
on the responsibility of " Conscious Influence," for in 
smothering this rising ambition thee has also destroyed 
my pet penance. I never get down to my lowest with- 
out some assistance from my needle, and whenever thee 
finds me darning stockings or lining sleeves thee may 
know I am trying to work out my salvation. 

On Sunday evening last I had a very pleasant call 
from Kate Febiger and Sarah Sellers, and the latter had 
on a most fascinating pair of sleeves. This fact forced 
me to action early next morning, and now my jacket 
is absolutely useless! So much for a "vaulting ambi- 
tion which overleaps itself! " 

Thy proposition about attending the little play at 
Wilmington is very alluring, but I am thinking of in- 
viting Mr. and Mrs. Noble over from New York for that 
very time, and if they accept I cannot of course. At 
any rate I do not think you need calculate on Tom's 
company, for he will be head over ears in business, 
while Dick and John are away. They sail day after to- 
morrow, and already I see wrinkles gathering for him. 
It is quite a different thing from his going and leaving 
two behind, especially when there was no business being 
done; but now that McKinley is elected the wildest 
dreams of success are indulged. Personally I do not 
care much for McKinley, as he. was so long deciding 



1896. 523 

about sound money, bnt I think it is a most ungraceful 
thing in the Eepublicans now to be stirring up the tariff 
question again, when they know it was not upon that 
issue he was elected. It is enough to discourage Demo- 
crats from ever giving them a helping hand again. 
Things will never come right until women are recog- 
nized as something more than chattels, or idiots! There 
is a lot of sound commonsense as well as sound money 
to be used, but while it is deliberately ignored what can 
we expect but disaster and continued political squab- 
bles? Oh, I'm a smarty about public affairs, even if I 
cannot manage my private ones; but this letter must go 
before I get too deep into it. 

Good-bye, now, with good luck to thy journey, and 
love to Florence. 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 30th, 1896. 
This little yellow ticket enclosed, dear Fin, please 
hand over to Sary. I took my Christmas calendar in to 
Wanny's for exchange, and if it had involved thousands 
of dollars there could not have been more fuss about it. 
First I had to go to the exchange woman, who was wait- 
ing on five or ten people at once, and how she kept 
things straight I do not know. My mind was hopelessly 
mixed. She sent off my little calendar by a boy, after 
inquiring when, how and where, and by whom the pur- 
chase was made. On a venture I said, " Mrs. C. B. 
Smyth, Wilmington, Delaware." Then they wanted to 
know if it was charge, or cash, and finally I said, " Oh, 
I don't know anything about it, as it was a Christmas 
present." This threw everything into " pi," and two 
counters were involved, and two women at each counter. 
I must have stood there two hours, more or less (I think 
it was less), but all my arguments were for naught, and 
at last I said: " I will pay the 25 cents rather than wait 
any longer." This was received with enthusiasm by all 



524 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

the women, and I paid the money while they marked 
all the previous transactions as " void." After the right 
little calendar was in my hands, they suddenly remem- 
bered it must be vised by another party (a man this 
time), and just then a sort of open sesame took place; 
my quarter was returned, and credit and also a charge 
given to Sary; in fact the dog began to bite the pig, and 
the old woman got over the stile. I tell you all this as 
a warning. Do not go to Wanny's to change anything, 
but simply transact all business by correspondence. . . . 

Ever since my return from Wilmington I have been 
fixing at Christmas gifts, and trying to find the right 
place for them. Each thing was exactly what I wanted, 
even " Kate Carnegie." My towels are my delight. 
Tom's presents are as good as mine, and everybody ad- 
mires them. Yesterday Mildred and Sadie called, en- 
thusiastic over my small remembrances, and I always 
enjoy the perfectly natural way in which Mildred keeps 
her youth while developing her character. . . . 

We went to the opera on Monday night, and will go 
again to-night, so you see we do not vegetate as yet. 
Tom wants me particularly to hear " Carmen " next 
Wednesday, so we cannot give that to Anne, but there 
is " Trovatore " on Monday night, and " Lohengrin " 
Saturday afternoon, I believe, and maybe she would 
rather wait until the following week and see what turns 
up. I do not think I will care for Carmen; she was 
such a baddy that I am afraid my morals will be injured 
if I like her, and if I do not, I shall be simply a prude. 

This morning we received official notice that Mr. 
Salter will leave Philadelphia, and take his old place in 
Chicago. That is a blow to me in one way, and a relief 
in another; for I feel myself no longer a part of the 
Ethical Society. My affection for Mr. Salter carried me 
through and beyond many snags of political portent. 
Now I am at sea for Sunda} r s, as the .churches generally 



1896. 525 

do not appeal to me. I shall probably go back to the 
old way of a quiet morning at home. How I wish I 
could hear Mr. Bowser once in a while. 

Now I must hurry up and do my chores this morn- 
ing, and let this go for what it is worth. A note has 
just reached me from Sue that she and Sallie will be 
here to lunch, and I must " knock a cat over " or some- 
thing to entice their appetites. 



CHAPTEE XXII. 

189 7. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 18th, 1897. 

The enclosed letter, dear Fin, is not for me to keep. 
It was fished out of the waste-basket when I returned 
from Wilmington, where thee made the request for its 
return; and I had a guilty feeling at the time that it was 
out of my reach. I have such a strong feeling about 
keeping letters that I can hardly understand how thee 
is willing to lumber up thy house with things of past 
value. However, here it is, to complete the story of my 
summer outing. 

It seems as if I had hardly got my bearings since my 
last exciting trip to Wilmington. It was all most en- 
joyable, but too much for the likes of me; and I simply 
lay in bed all next day. In that time of enforced idle- 
ness I went over all the things we did and still the won- 
der grew how you Wilmington people accomplish so 
much, and I concluded it was in doing without rest. If 
that is so, then it is well my lines have not fallen in that 
pleasant locality, for I simply have to get hold of myself 
in the quiet, sometimes. My mind has been a good deal 
tossed since my return in a domestic-machinery way, but 
I remember how thee said once, " I have no patience 
with people who complain and do not do anything to get 
out of their perplexities." It is true I am rather a 
long-suffering creature, just from a dread of change; but 
there comes a time when even a worm will turn. I am 
simply " laying low " now, but am building up a mighty 
resolve. 



1897. 527 

Yesterday we had D. and J. M. to dinner, who made 
themselves very agreeable, and it all passed off well, as 
things invariably do if one is on the right tack. I hated 
to invite them, because I always feel as if they thought 
me too old to bother with, and out of their world alto- 
gether. Still, as it is Tom's home, I knew they ought 
to be entertained here, and I wanted them. This Euro- 
pean trip has been a great education to them, and they 
enjoy the retrospect as much as the trip itself. They 
brought me a beautiful little salt-cellar and spoon of 
Russian enamel, which they got in Moscow. . . . 

Tom is reading aloud to me the " Children of the 
Ghetto/' but I am not specially impressed with it, and it 
does not incline me to any more partiality for the Jews. 
I am far more interested in going over Hudson's " Laws 
of Psychic Phenomena," which I finished before I went 
to Wilmington. I wish I could get some very prosaic 
people to read it, and could find how it strikes them. 
I would wish to have L. R., among others, study it up, 
and see if the " subjective mind " of his wife could not 
be appealed to by a demand for more cheerfulness. " I 
could a tale unfold " if thee were beside me, but it will 
not bear writing about. .... 

I must call to see R. B., who sent me word she 
wanted to see me. Her mother is now deprived of one 
great source of entertainment in R/s symptoms; but it 
makes me think of the old woman who wanted a drink, 
and kept crying, " I am so dry," and after she got it 
kept on, " I was so dry." 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 10th, 1897. 

Oh, no, dear Fin, I cannot desert my post this week. 

Alice is still very ill, and I go out there every day or 

two, and though I think now she will get well, yet I 

think I would rather be on hand. This will no doubt 



528 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

be a blow to the B. family, as they are so wrapped up in 
my society, but I think they will get over it. If thee 
knew, however, how much I prize thy wish to have me, 
apart from my own inclination to be with you, thee 
would not think it merely a desire to " shut myself up " 
that keeps me at home. Why thee should want me, ex- 
cept to give me pleasure, I do not understand; but since 
thee does, please keep on, for I like the thought. It 
continues to be a surprise to me when I find myself of 
any consequence; but please look around for better en- 
tertainment for the family. . . . 

Bessie is just now greatly infatuated with a certain 
Mr. Gleason, a phrenologist and Scientist, who has given 
her some points on her character, and for a considera- 
tion will do the same for anyone. In case I come under 
examination, I will let thee know what to think of 
me. . . . 

I want to congratulate Helen on her appointment,* 
but she knows without a word from me how I always re- 
joice in every recognition of her. This began when she 
was a baby, and has continued undiminished ever since. 
When I was out at Millbourne last week John told me 
their intention, which he said thee already knew, but 
was saving up for the official announcement. They all 
spoke so cordially about it out at Millbourne, that I 
thought it might be something more than an empty 
honor 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 17th, 1897. 

. It seems, dear Fin, as if there were a fatality about 

my meeting the B. family. I should be only too glad 

to come as thee suggests, but yesterday I fell down 

stairs part way, and am laid up now with a bandaged 

* As Secretary of Edge Moor Iron Company and Edge Moor 
Bridge Works. 



1897. 529 

foot, which I cannot pnt to the floor. I was in terrible 
pain for a while, but saved myself from fainting by hav- 
ing to take charge of my own case. Katie sent post- 
haste for the doctor, however, and as he has pronounced 
no bones broken and no dislocations, I am likely to 
mend in the course of time. It was only yesterday I 
was congratulating myself that I had not had a doctor 
for a year almost — (not counting oculists), — and here 
all in a minute my record is broken. I had on my read- 
ing glasses, and forgot to take them off as I came down- 
stairs, and thought I was at the bottom when I was in 
reality three steps short of it. If I had worn my new 
bifocal glasses they would have been condemned as dan- 
gerous, but I had just taken them off, and forgot I had 
the others on. Now I am condemned to bed for a week, 
perhaps; but when the doctor comes I shall tell him how 
the Bowser family are aching to see me on Saturday, and 

see if he can hurry things up for me 

I think you would be quite interested in Mr. Glea- 
son, and when Bessie comes I will get his address for 
you. He charges fifty cents for a verbal character, two 
dollars for a written one, and one dollar and a half for 
a condensed written one. Mine is in full, at Tom's re- 
quest, but I think it could all have been put in the one 
sentence, " You do not think enough of yourself." His 
suggestions are quite helpful, and show clearly that for 
me at least nature must play second fiddle to art. I 
have to hold myself in every direction, and learn to be 
exactly what I am not. ISTo impulses any more, but a 
studied sense of my own importance, which has hitherto 
been far too cheap a commodity. His delineation of 
Tom's character was really wonderful, and I who know 
him so well recognized this reading as a good proof of 
Mr. Grleason's discernment. One thing he said was, 
"You could do anything if you had more ambition. 
You must be a spur to yourself, and when you marry, 



530 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

(which would be your best state), look out for a woman 
who will keep -you to your best! " Next morning Tom 
was out of the bath-room in half his usual time, which 
he explained as being a spur to himself!! . . . 

The doctor has just been here, and says that Wil- 
mington is not to be thought of on Saturday. I cannot 
put my foot to the floor for an instant without intense 
pain, and he says I must not try it for a week perhaps. 
So thee sees, Fin, thee is quite safe from inroads of 
mine. ... 

I thought of making a bicycle-skirt by thy pattern, 
but think I will leave it now until it can be done under 
thy supervision. My plan is to save money on every 
hand, thus frustrating all my natural tendencies, which, 
with Mr. Gleason's instructions, will eventually make me 
a selfish pig. I am simply giving myself over to a rad- 
ical change, and as he thinks I am inclined to hold my- 
self too cheap, the next thing will be an o?;er-estimate, 
and see how you like that! Oh, Fin, when thee sees 
my written character thee will see I am far too nice to 
be neglected, a sort of flower hitherto blushing unseen, 
but now rampant and vigorous with self-conceit and 
display. 

I am writing with my fountain pen, which was my 
constant companion while away, and which still turns up 
as good as ever in freely disposing of its ink in most un- 
expected places. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 20th, 1897. 

Instead of meeting your nice people this evening, I 
am still fast in bed with my foot bandaged, by the doc- 
tor's urgency. 

Mary Sellers is postponed until Monday. Hardly 
was this done, when Miss H. called, who entirely disap- 
proved of rest for the foot! She says, e< All this regimen 
is out of date in the light of physical culture; the ath- 



1897. 531 

letics and dancers who make their living by agility, no 
matter how many sprains, or knocks, and brnises they 
may get, go right on, greatly to their benefit." Now I- al- 
ways believe in the last advice, and am ready to throw 
Dr. H. to the winds, but for consistency and self-respect 
I must wait until Monday before I dash out into prob- 
lems. I am very tired of bed, but the pain in my foot 
when I put it to the floor makes me patient. 

E. was here this morning with her various problems 
and theories. How I wish I could help her, but I have 
at last concluded that my mission is to " stand still and 
see the salvation of the Lord " without trying to have a 
finger in the pie. This is hard on me, for I always feel 
as if I ought to put my shoulder to the wheel. To go 
over into other people's territory is sort of instinctive 
with me, for as Mr. Gleason says, " You do not feel for 
people, but with them." . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 27th, 1897. 

Thy breezy letter, dear Fin, reached me this after- 
noon, and I found it great medicine. My enforced idle- 
ness is telling on me now, and I simply long for the 
fresh air out-doors, and the inspiration and vigor which 
I need. While I was trying the heroic treatment day 
before yesterday, I walked with Tom's assistance as far 
as Thirty-fifth street, and nearly fainted with the pain. 
All the rest of that day and the next I became a firm 
disciple of all " Old School " remedies : — bandages, 
bathing with liniments, and rest. Nothing could disturb 
the calm conviction that " patience must have its per- 
fect work "; but to-day I am more impatient than ever. 

Thy letter made me think of the " lots of good times 
that I am not in," and I threw down my knitting and 
resolved to do something desperate in the way of getting 
the use of my foot. So far I am just about where you 
left me a week ago, and am trying to keep my mind on 



532 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

something else by reading and knitting, and comforting 
myself with the thought that it might have been much 
worse. Indeed, it is not so bad at all; only the hardest 
thing always for me is to simply wait. . . . 

E. was here this afternoon a little while, looking so 
bright and pretty and well that I half forgot the burden 
on my mind. . . . She is so anxious to do what is right 
that perhaps she will become a law to herself, in the best 
sense, eventually. . . . 

Complications are not easy to arrange, even with 
steady heads, and my sympathies go as much to one side 
as the other if there are two sides. Oh, how I wish 
" artistic temperaments " and enthusiastic Mental 
Scientists had no discordant elements or hard places in 
them! But people's discipline comes whether they like 
it or not, and always in the way hardest to bear. I 
could give points to inquisitors if I felt in a cruel mood, 
which I do not. 

What a lovely time you must have had at Kennett! 
I do not believe thee said the wrong thing at all. Of 
course thee was wiser when thee came away, for that 
sort of stair wit is part of the make-up of our family. 
I am glad the members of the next generation are not 
afraid to speak, and will do some justice to their 
thoughts. I would like to hear more about the congress 
at Washington, which the newspapers did not do half 
justice to. My nieces are much more to the point than 
all the published reports. 

Tom is busy in the third story over his stamps, or he 
would send thee a message, and Annie is waiting to 
mail this. 

Have you read the last number of Kipling's " Cap- 
tains Courageous"? I think it is fine. I am learning 
to like Kipling more and more, though I think he is a 
man's man. Eobert Louis Stevenson is always my de- 
light, and Du Maurier; and I do not like to think they 



1897. 533 

are both dead. They will never be really dead to me. 
" The Martian " is a working over of the old vein of 
" Peter Ibbetson," the best self coming out in 
sleep. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 7th, 1897. 

Well, Fin, I have nothing to say when people prefer 
the vanities of this life, paper shades instead of sisterly 
affection; but as thee incidentally refers to the Alliance, 
I would like to know where it is held. I should gladly 
meet thee, if only to show my Christian forbearance and 
amiability, though within I am raging at thee; but I 
cannot stand at the corners and wait for thee to turn up, 
and so thy independent course works out its own re- 
sult. My bicycle-skirt can wait as well as thy glasses; 
and next week, when thee has done those fool shades 
and entertained everybody in town, thee can perhaps 
turn thy attention to thy own sister. I have been sitting 
at the window watching for the postman, and this is all 
I get by it. 

Tom found nothing worth seeing at the theatres, and 
I was going to take thee to hear Dr. Stanley Hall at the 
Normal School. I went to a reception for him at the 
University the other night, and I have hardly gotten 
over it yet. Such a wearisome thing was it for me to 
wear a smile on my face for two hours when my feet 
were aching, and the only luxury in life was the idea of 
getting to bed. 

Now I will look up about the Alliance, and try to 
meet thee to-morrow at the church, or, if I knew when 
thee was coming up, at the station. As to getting out 
to 3303, I will wait and see; but I give thee fair warn- 
ing that even the silk worm will turn at last. 



534 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 8th, 1897. 

Well, Fin, unless thee can produce my purse, it has 
been a bad journey for me. I am sure I had it in our 
car coming from the church on Tenth street, for I put 
my hand in my pocket to get it when thee insisted upon 
paying. The moral of that is, Always let me pay, and 
then I will always find my purse. I did not miss it un- 
til I got into the Baring street car at Thirty-third; then 
I had nothing with which to pay my fare. Fortunately, 
they did not put me out; but I have been going over 
the contents of that purse ever since. First a five-dollar 
gold piece, and a five-franc piece which has been my 
luck penny for many years; then a five-dollar note, and 
I think about two dollars besides. Far too much to lose; 
and I am afraid of a Chinese man, who sat beside me 
after thee got out. I write this without much hope of 
thee knowing anything about it, but I cannot quite give 
it up. Katie's sympathy, expressed in the most tragic 
manner, met my views on the subject; and if I had 
shrieked and torn my hair it would have been none too 
much to meet the case in her eyes and my own feelings of 
despair. It has at least robbed me of rest since coming 
home, and to get rest was my reason for coming; so now, 
after this, I will be more patient, and wait thy time. 

I try to think of what a nice time we had together, 
but even that fails to console me, since we both agreed 
it would have been much nicer at 3303. If thee never 
lost a purse thee cannot appreciate the position. I have 
just thought of a little gold glove-buttoner which I al- 
ways carried, although I always used a hair-pin!! Now I 
will not go on telling thee my losses, for a small one was 
a pass on the Pennsylvania, railroad from Bryn Mawr, 
not to mention some valuable papers in the shape of 
scraps of poetry, which were my recreation and comfort 
when I had no money in the purse; and, last but not 
least, the purse itself was a new one, just suited for 



1897. 535 

carrying. Now comfort me if thee can, for I feel in 
need of it! 

Windsor, Vermont, June 20th, 1897. 

Thy little note, dear Fin, reached me yesterday, 
forwarded from Philadelphia. It is a great relief to me 
to know that Edith is safely through her time of trial, 
and that she has a little daughter who may be like her- 
self. Nothing could be sweeter and more suggestive. 
It is getting to be quite an every-day affair for thee to 
have another grandchild, but to the parents at least it 
is the beginning of things, and a great outlook. I used 
to wish someone would leave a baby on my doorstep, 
but I am beginning to believe that the selection of 
mothers was made without me being " in it/' excepting 
as a sort of by play. 

I do not believe thee ever enjoyed thy children more 
than I did, and I still keep them forever young. These 
women whom I now enjoy never destroy the pride and 
pleasure and reality of their babyhood, and indeed I can- 
not make them grow up. Well, even their mother still 
walks up and down the dusty West Chester road, and 
fills my ears with nonsense. All the after-wisdom of 
thy life makes less impression than the light-heartedness 
of that careless time. I feel sometimes as if I had lived 
thousands of years, and yet it is but a little time since 
we were girls together. Each break in the family now 
comes with a sort of surprise, as if we had hardly begun 
our preparations for living. 

Steve and Bess were much interested to hear all 
about " Uncle George," for whom they had a very near 
feeling; and I think of Annie, wondering if she still 
keeps up her brave front. 

I had a bad dream about Sary the other night, and I 
want to be kept informed about you all. . . . 

We closed up the house (3303) on Wednesday after- 



536 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

noon, and Tom took me over to New York, where we 
stayed all night at the Grand Union. After supper we 
went around to see the Nobles, and found them away 
from home. It was a real disappointment, and only 
think! yesterday I had a note from Tom enclosing their 
card, which he found under our door when he reached 
home Thursday. On it was written, " So disappointed 
not to find you at home." It was a sort of repetition of 
" Taffy." 

Anna and Mary Coggeshall met us at the station 
Thursday morning, and Tom saw us off on our long 
journey. We shortened it in a way by stopping off at 
Northampton for three hours. It was a great rest, and 
a pleasure beside. Mary has been entered as a student 
in Smith College for the fall, and their object in stop- 
ping was to secure a pleasant room and boarding-place 
for her. It is a lovely little town, with broad, winding, 
shaded streets, and pleasant yards around the 
houses. . . . 

We walked through the campus several times, and 
around the streets, and saw that youth is the prevailing 
element, and everything gives way before it. Such op- 
portunities! and such freedom of life! I would like to 
begin all over again, and see what a trained mind would 
do for me. 

Mary is a very bright girl, and has just graduated 
with honors from the High School in Orange, which 
enables her to enter Smith without further examina- 
tion. In this it differs from Bryn Mawr, where it is 
made more difficult to enter, and perhaps easier to get 
•on. Speaking of Bryn Mawr reminds me that I am ex- 
pecting a letter from Herbert, telling me whether those 
other people have taken the house next to them, or if 
Dr. Mackenzie is willing to accept my offer. The way 
was entirely blocked to take boarding at Miss Jones's, 
on Sixty-third street, so this was the next thing to be 



1897. 537 

considered. Tom is unconsciously a Scientist, for after 
making all effort, and nothing coming of it, he simply 
says, " Well, this was not meant for us; there is some- 
thing else better," which finished the matter about going 
to Sixty-third street, and will also console him if this 
falls through. 

I expect to stay here a couple of weeks (if they do 
not get tired of me), and " after that the deluge." The 
summer does not open very clearly, but for thy consola- 
tion I will say that so far I have not wished to have 
Katie back. Tom and I were fine housekeepers for about 
a week, but I am not as young as I once was, and have 
too long had a life of ease. Bessie is charmingly fixed, 
with two lovely young girls who are like daughters to 
her; vying with each other in doing everything possible 
for her, and evidently very fond of her. She has blos- 
somed out in these favorable conditions, and it is only 
another proof of the power of appreciation. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, July 14th, 1897. 
What a sweet little thing for thee to do, dear Pin, in 
sending me the letter of welcome home. It needed some 
alleviations here, for nothing is more dismal than a shut- 
up house. I came over in the rain on Tuesday at noon; 
but that was only a gentle drizzle, for when I got into 
the house at two o* clock, and received my trunk, it was 
coming down in bucketfuls. It was so dark that I had 
to have the electric light going while I unpacked my 
trunk, and I assure thee there was a certain satisfaction 
in knowing there would be no ring at the door. I had 
on undress uniform, and was dripping at every pore. 
My intention was to go out to Darby, but I gave it up 
without a pang, for I was too fagged out after I got 
things put away to care what happened. It seemed a 
strange thing to have nothing to eat in the house, but I 
suddenly thought of some sandwiches Anna had put in 



538 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

my bag at South Orange, and when it stopped raining 
I went out and got a pitcher of milk; so thee sees Queen 
Victoria herself could not have had anything more sat- 
isfying. On my way I called at Marots' to see if Helen 
could stay with me at night. She was not at home, but 
was expected there about supper time; and I told them 
not to dare to let her come here to supper, for I had only 
enough for myself. With this inhospitable invitation, 
however, she was satisfied, and put in an appearance 
about half-past seven. We went upstairs immediately, 
and sat in our bones to cool. It was good to get home, 
even in this fashion; for spreading out is a luxury in 
summer, and going without clothes another. . . . 

If it was hot in Wilmington, do not think it has 
been cool in Vermont, or at South Orange. We nearly 
expired, and Bessie laid down the law against my travel- 
ing in such killing weather. Fortunately it got a little 
better next day, and we left Windsor after waiting three 
hours for a belated train. We did not reach South 
Orange until after one o'clock at night, and thee knows 
that is after my bed-time. Oh, but I was tired ! Well, 
I have had two lovely visits, — three weeks with Bessie 
and one with Anna; and they did everything to make 
me have a nice time. The chief thing was not to ask 
me to visit in such hot weather, so we stayed quietly at 
home and improved our acquaintance with each other. 
Anna has a lovely home, and a very interesting family, 
of which I will tell thee when I see thee. . . . 

I am going out to Millbourne on Saturday if they 
are home, and on Friday we, — Helen Marot and I, — 
are going out to Willow Grove to one of the Damrosch 
concerts. She insisted on taking me home to breakfast 
this morning, which was much better than I could have 
attained here. 

To-morrow I will come in from Darby to look after 
a wash-woman, whose presence here is greatly needed. 



1897. 539 

I feel as if nothing could ever restore my self-respect 
but clean clothes, and plenty of them. This is my first 
experience of shutting up my house, and I do not think 
it suits me at all. It is absolutely necessary to have one 
spot always ready for throwing cares together or apart, 
and a sort of " Away with melancholy! " feeling in its 
atmosphere. . . . 

» 

Yacht " Julnar," Newport, August 5th, 1897. 
Here we are, dear Fin, in this most charming place, 
with the freshest of air and the brightest of sunshine, 
and I wish you were all here. We left New London on 
"Wednesday morning with the fleet of the New York 
Yacht Club, coming here for a race. Such a fine sail 
as we had, tearing around Point Judith, dashing over 
the high waves, and getting in with the " Vigilant " and 
other crack boats. One of our party was laid low for 
a while, but soon came up, very much ashamed to have 
succumbed. This was Mrs. Noble, who is not so pro- 
nounced a sailor as M. S. Even I was depressed with 
the glaring sun for a while, but not long. We dropped 
anchor here about three o'clock, and found ourselves in 
the midst of everything. The lights and shadows were 
beautiful on the water, and the never-ending changes of 
coloring were enchanting. Then all the yachts around 
us were full of interest, and in the evening the display 
of fireworks was something marvelous. Some of the 
rockets were lost in the gathering fog, but all the lower 
fireworks lit up the harbor like fairy-land until after 
ten o'clock. My neck was nearly twisted off, turning to 
see everything; and finally I sat down and refused to 
look at anything unless it was straight before me. At 
last it was over, and we " turned in." We never go to 
bed on a yacht, but " turn in," and indeed bed is -never 
mentioned excepting as a bunk. We had hardly gotten 
fixed for the night when the rain came down in torrents, 



540 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

and all day yesterday we simply sat under the awnings, 
dressed in tarpaulins, and looking like guys. It was 
exceedingly becoming to Mrs. Noble, but then pretty 
people can wear anything. We felt ourselves very for- 
tunate that the rain came after we were anchored, in- 
stead of out at sea, where we could not have been so 
well protected. While we were in New London we went 
on shore, and had some delightful trolley rides, going 
out on the beach many miles. There is nothing like 
trolleys to get the air, and see the town and the general 
lay of the land. Here the weather prevented this enjoy- 
ment until last night after supper, when we went ashore 
and saw this quaint old town. We took two trolley rides, 
which we are going to repeat this morning, for it was 
too dark to see the beautiful places which lined the 
street far out into the country. One disagreeable fea- 
ture of our trip ashore was a telegram for Mr. Noble, 
which compelled him to leave us and go to New York 
last night; but we arranged to meet him again at New 
London to-morrow on our return trip. We will start 
early to-morrow (Saturday) morning, and hope to find 
him standing on the wharf when we get in. He hated 
to go, and we hated to have him go, but as he said, 
" Business is too scarce now to be neglected when it 
comes." . . . 

Our trip has been a great success for each and all, 
but laziness prevails to a frightful extent, or at least thee 
would think so. Mrs. Noble is busy making some 
Christmas presents, and embroiders a good deal, while 
Tom reads aloud to us; but this is when we are indus- 
trious. I am reading the " Scapegoat," by Hall Caine; 
and of such literature there is an ample supply on the 
boat, but of substantial reading very little. Nothing is 
substantial here but the meals, which come too often for 
me; but every one else is hungry long before the call 
comes to " go below for grub." The indolence of this 



1897. 541 

life would perhaps pall after a few weeks, but I never 
go to sea without wishing I had been on the yacht 
" Sunbeam " and gone around the world, not because 
I want to cultivate the Brasseys, but just for pure love 
of the sea. Already in this small trip I feel as if we had 
been gone weeks, for the incidents are many, particu- 
larly when we stop at the various ports and go ashore to 
see things. . . . 

Just here Mrs. Noble and Tom insisted on my com- 
ing up on deck to see the fleet set sail. It was a beau- 
tiful sight, as one after another hoisted sail, and set out 
like a bird on the wing. Nothing could be prettier; and 
Tom was busy taking pictures of various celebrities, and 
pointing out the striking differences in them, which I 
was too blind to see, and too dumb to recognize even 
when pointed out. The picture of the whole I shall 
never forget. It is a glittering morning, and the air 
like wine. As they sailed out each one said " Good- 
bye." Some were going up to Bar Harbor to the farther 
races; some were going home; but all looked graceful 
and free as they floated off. 

We are now going ashore to do up Newport, and to- 
morrow morning we shall turn our faces homeward. 
This is written not because there is much to tell, but 
simply because I like to keep in touch with you all. 

This was written from the country on the outskirts 
of Philadelphia, where they were boarding : 

September 1st. 1897. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, was carried down home yester- 
day, with the full intention of answering it there; but 
my hands were otherwise occupied, although my mind 
was continually straying in thy direction. 

Our time is limited here, not from any wish to leave 
the country, but from a conviction that we are at un- 



542 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

necessary expense, since I am well able to take hold at 
home. This is what I thought, however, yesterday 
morning; but when I came home fagged out at night, 
I began to wonder if I was able for anything. I had 
spoken to my wash-woman's husband about cleaning up 
the stove at 3303, which was getting badly rusted. He 
was to meet me there yesterday morning, but the even- 
ing before he called on me with another colored gentle- 
man, apologizing for not being able to meet his engage- 
ment. He said, " I took the liberty of bringing this 
gentleman with me; he is a gentleman of great promi- 
nence, and will suit you, I am sure! " This indirect com- 
pliment to my requirements in a stove-blacker carried 
the day, and I engaged him; so we spent the time to- 
gether in the most prosaic work. He wore spectacles, 
and so did I; and while he worked away at the stove I 
cleaned the closets, and got to know where things are 
pretty well. To have no care of this kind for seventeen 
years has introduced me into a novel sensation. . . , 

For some reasons I shall be very glad to get home, 
and (barring the country) I shall be rejoiced to get into 
my own domicile. I am not a natural boarder, and lying 
in the hammock only suits me for a little while. I feel 
as if life had other calls for me, though much of it has 
had to be in rest. 

My summer has been certainly varied, and I feel the 
benefit of it, as my courage and pluck are not yet de- 
stroyed in this life of inactivity. Thee would be wild 
with it, particularly as all the social elements are so very 
proper. Mrs. W. is the centre (as the oldest inhabitant), 
and she says, " Our branch of Friends has a perfectly 
defined religion, but I do not know anything about the 
other branch! " " No," said I, " that goes without say- 
ing; for even if the standard is the same, we do not al- 
ways recognize it." Oh, she is " Ortho," (as Aunt Han- 



1897. 543 

nah used to say), and her family even, when it merges 
into the " other brancL," s eto on t °f ner kin. . . . 

Tom is only staying there for my sake, and thee 
knows what a baby he is about being at home; so I am 
quite willing to get fixed at 3303. Oh, but Fin, it is hard 
to leave the country, which is perfectly '"^ ™ n w; and 
yet the liberty of one's own home is all-prevailing. This 
is an ideal place to board, and I never saw kinder 
people. . . . 

Now I must simply get this letter off, for I have 
other fish to fry than talking to thee. It was begun at 
Sixty-third street, and continued in Hamilton street, 
where I am spending the day with the colored " gentle- 
man of great prominence." He is cleaning tins, and* I 
must be on hand to put them in their places, and have 
a finger in various pies awaiting my attention. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, September 4th, 1897. 

It seems to me pretty cool in thee, Fin, to give no 
reason, but simply say, " I cannot go see thee, either to- 
day or to-morrow." The Misses J. had set their hearts 
on thy coming, not to mention a slight inclination on 
my part. They were greatly disappointed that they did 
not see Sary when she called, and in short they want to 
know what kind of a family I have anyway. I am sure 
I do not know myself, since nobody comes to see me. I 
cannot content myself on Mrs. W., though she reads me 
parts of letters from her niece, who is taking her bridal 
trip in Europe. . . . 

I have been here (3303) all day, waiting for a girl to 
whom I had written to put in her appearance. It is 
needless to say she didn't come; but I picked up a poor 
woman on the street who helped me clean the china- 
closet, and was very grateful for the help. I was almost 
crazy with the yells of her baby, but she said it wouldn't 
hurt him. She never imagined how my nerves were on 



544 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

the stretch. Now next week I will be here off and on, 
looking for girls, and going out in the country to 
sleep. . . . 

Thy enclosure of the " Recessional " was very ac- 
ceptable, though familiar. Tom has been carrying it 
in his pocket ever since it was published, and we both 
think it fine, and in rather a different vein from Kip- 
ling's usual style. He has written some other things, 
however, that show religious, earnest feeling; and Tom 
thinks " he is hard to beat." I think one's taste has to 
be cultivated, however, to like Kipling, or to get under 
the rough exterior. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 13th, 1897. 

... I had a nice little call from Saide and Alice, 
and succeeded in interesting them in my dreams of the 
country (or half country), in Overbrook. We talk of it 
as a reality, and I began my building in the first week 
we spent at Miss Jones's. Well, now I am deluged with 
books and charts and maps of Overbrook, and Tom and 
I are already transplanting our little Pin-oak from our 
front here to this unknown plot in Overbrook. I realize 
that " thought is a magnet," and I am not at all sure 
but " invisible vast forces are set thronging between me 
and that goal! " Knowing how impossible it is does not 
prevent me from believing that all things are possible, 
and I am just leaving it to be worked out by a Higher 
Power, for certainly I can do nothing. Yes, I can too; 
I will think of it as a reality, which will help to make 
it so. I hope to be able to write thee a letter (in that 
Utopia) at ten o'clock in the morning without artificial 
light. Here I cannot use my desk without turning on 
the light, excepting at high noon. 

Yesterday I worked like a galley slave taking up my 
flowers from the various boxes, and getting them fixed 



1897. 545 

for winter in the house. It does not seem much like 
winter, but it will come nevertheless. . . . 

It is quite impossible to convey my strong feeling 
that we see too little of one another, and that the time 
will come when we will look back to this condition of 
things with real regret. Each family is necessarily ab- 
sorbed in its own affairs, which leaves little time for 
others; but I greatly rejoice in the fact that there is an 
undercurrent of feeling with us all, in which we are giv- 
ing and taking that pleasant intercourse denied to our 
actual life. In reality we are all much nicer than we 
appear, and the moral for that remark is to have thee 
see how charming I must be! 

We had great fun the other evening while Tom was 
putting the pictures * in our album, for we had to fix 
the dates to go under them, so I got out those old let- 
ters which thee condescended to lend me, and we en- 
joyed them far more than you could ever have done, 
knowing the many accompaniments which had to be left 
out. Tom thought it would be nice to have them type- 
written and inserted in the appropriate pages in the 
album, but I rejected this idea with scorn as making 
them too much public property. When thee comes up 
I will show thee the book as far as it goes, and see if 
thee does not think we have made good use of our trip. 
We talk of going again (just when business is at its low- 
est) in the same way in which we build houses at Over- 
brook, in perfect abandon of delight. I promise one 
thing, however, — that I will not begin the house until 
thee inspects the plans and pronounces them good. 
Light and space are positively in the programme, par- 
ticularly the former. 

Just now our hopes of a larger income are buoyed 
up by another bid (and a better one) for the Blockley 

* These were the European pictures. 



546 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

lot. I believe it is to be decided to-day, so look out for 
a windfall. John has the positive authority of all the 
heirs, I think, to sell; and is himself anxious to turn it 
into money, even if it is not as much as he thinks it 
worth. When this news came I felt queer. It seemed 
plain that the " invisible vast forces " had begun their 
work, and although I professed to believe in them, yet 
the result was in a way unexpected. It will take more 
faith to believe that somebody will step in and want to 
buy this house, which seems the only feasible way of 
getting another. Well, thee sees I tell thee my dreams 
as well as my realities, and I hardly know which is the 
more real. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 5th, 1897. 

We are kept busy going to the opera, and rest- 
ing between whiles. Three in one week is one too many 
for me, and I thought I had • comfortably arranged for 
Alice Bancroft to go on Saturday afternoon, when at 
the last minute I found she was in West Chester, and 
Annie was depending on my going with her; so instead 
of enjoying a rainy day at home I put on my bicycle- 
skirt and paddled off to the opera. Melba was worth 
the exertion, but I do not like too much of even a good 
thing. . . . 

I have " Abby Gibbons," which Saide lent me, and it 
takes me back into quite another atmosphere than opera- 
going. How much more pronounced Quakers were then! 
— or is it only that we have changed? I wish thee could 
have heard Felix Adler on Sunday last. It was fine! 
" ' The tug at the heart ',; ' The voice in the soul '; — 
this is the only G-od I know, and peace follows obedience 
to it." If I had time I could give thee more of it, for 
it was very impressive; but I am writing against time, 
and Tom is now ready to mail it; so good-night, my 
dear, with love all around. 



1897. 547 

Thee has been quite distant of late, and I have 
finally traced it to Florence Cushing's visit. Come down 
from thy heights, and tell me what thee is about. 



CHAPTEK XXIII. 

1898. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 24th, 1898. 

Well, Fin, thy letter came at breakfast time, and I 
attempted to read it aloud; but while Tom kept saying 
" Go on, go on," I said, " Truly, this makes me squirm; 
Fanny is evidently off her head." Praise may do for 
some people, but I " had the misfortune not to be born 
a fool," and cannot digest thy encouraging words. My 
digestion is out of sorts physically, and I do not think 
it is in good condition spiritually either ; but 1 have much 
enjoyed every part of thy letter but that pertaining to 
M. S. I am really anxious to think well of myself, but I 
must first get on to a higher plane. Ever since I re- 
turned from Wilmington I have been in bed until this 
morning, and really feel like a rag; so thee may as well 
wait for the invigoration of health to secure apprecia- 
tion of thy loving little preach. 

I will try not to make any more comparisons, for 
that really makes me unhappy sometimes, but there is 
no use to exalt my standard for virtues that I do not 
possess. I will enclose the paper about Lewis, which is 
very satisfactory to my pride in him, and I shall be de- 
lighted to have him make use of this house for deco- 
rative purposes; also to stay all night if he will. I wish 
I were up to par to make it nice for him, but he will 
not perhaps notice any difference. 

I must not forget to tell thee that all the informa- 
tion about the Thompson wedding which I extracted 
from Helen is of no avail. I am not asked, and I re- 
member now that they gave me the go-by also when 



1898. 549 

Carrie was married. I felt very much hurt about that 
at the time, for I knew Carrie as a little girl, and al- 
ways felt an interest in her; besides, as Eli used to say, 
" I did not like being made so conspicuous." Now, 
however, I do not care a mite. I do not know Sadie, 
and the whole family are simply not for me. 

The little note from Mrs. Clemence is exactly like 
her, and I greatly enjoy the thought of calling on her 
some time, for she may remember me from a faint re- 
semblance to thee. Otherwise it is not likely she would 
know me in bicycle attire. 

Now, Fin, continue to think as well of me as thy 
wild imagination dictates, and come see me when thee 
can. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 4th, 1898. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, so nice and fat, I waited to read 
until I sat down by the fire after breakfast, and it was 
no great things of entertainment after all. Anne's ridic- 
ulous bill leaves me in a quandary. I consulted Tom, 
as my business manager, about returning the stamps to 
her, but he thought " that would not begin to pay her 
for all her work"; so now won't thee tell her I really 
want to be treated as a stranger in this matter, and 
wish her to make some respectable charge, or I can 
never ask her again to do anything for me. And only 
think of the pains she took about the linen for holding 
the yarn! Well, I feel completely flabbergasted, and can- 
not see why thee brought Anne up in such careless fash- 
ion. I pity Harry to have such a reckless wife. 

I- found Alice P. under the effects of the snow and 
cold, with increasing asthma, but still up. She is get- 
ting more in the notion of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 
but inclines to think her letters are too effusive; too 
many " dears " and " dearests," — but I did not mind 

that. B says there is no reason why I should not 

have communications with Mrs. Browning, as she no 



550 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

doubt feels my appreciation; but since we were separ- 
ated in this life, I see no reason why we should meet in 
the other. 

I had another call from B the other day in 

which she outdid herself in her wild statements and con- 
clusions. Poor thing, she is so happy in this new world 
that it seems a pity to mar it by any earthly doubts. 
Even if I would, however, I could not shake her faith. 

I have invited Eleanor Smyth to lunch with me to- 
morrow, and have asked Annie Bancroft to meet her, 
hoping they will come to some conclusion about renting 
that house; for if I take Mrs, Andrews it means a good 
deal to me what neighbors I have. 

I must not talk any longer, for Tom is ready to start 
off. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 19th, 1898. 

. . . My reason for writing to thee this evening, 
however, is simply to call thy attention to a review of 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Letters in the Nation of 
February 10th. I cannot remember whether you take 
the Nation, but if not I can furnish thee that number, 
provided thee will return it to me. It expresses my 
views, and will perhaps assist thee in writing thy paper 
for Library Day. . . . 

Apart from all this, I want to know about Betty. 
Amalie told me about her at first, and then I questioned 
Frank at the Brooks reception, but still I do not under- 
stand why thee doesn't tell me about it. Eeally, one 
might suppose I had no interest in thy affairs, and yet 
thee knows to the contrary. Betty seems part of the 
household, and a most serious part, too, and why thee 
should rack her poor brain about wearing a white apron 
I cannot understand. I used that incident myself in a 
casual way the other day, and Dora is no fool! She is 
much interested about a " white apron with lapels which 



1898. 551 

Mrs. Garrett is going to have made for her," which also 
I entertained her with the other day, to her infinite de- 
light. 

Katie is still hovering around, and is very anxious to 
get a place, but although my heart goes out to her I 
have no wish to have her again. Dora does not appeal 
to me in any way excepting through her work, but as to 
jollying me along as Katie did, she would not so conde- 
scend. 

Amalie says thee told them about my projected im- 
provements, which they highly approve, but one post- 
ponement after another tends somewhat to check my 
enthusiasm. Now if thee should feel like coming up 
next week, I could get great service out of thee in help- 
ing to select covering for the library chair, and also for 
the parlor sofa (which has to be torn to pieces to mend 
the springs); and I fear the old Bagdad will not hold to- 
gether. 

My embroidery is almost done, and is fascinating 
work, but whether it is done right is for Wilmington 
people to determine. I prevented Saide and Alice from 
coming here on Friday, which was needless, so far as 
my dissipations were concerned. I simply laid in bed 
all day, and my state of mind was such that I would not 
have been surprised to hear of the death of any one or 
all of my friends. The night before I went down to the 
Drexel in the evening, after being at the Century Club 
all afternoon, for Louis Elson was to sing some of his 
Scotch songs. Well, every one was so familiar, and my 
youth came back to me, and a feeling that I could sing 
even better than he; so I came home at last in the deep- 
est dejection, knowing the sad reality that I could sing 
no more. No one could understand this sadness, but I 
hope thee can imagine how hard it is to hear one's own 
old songs enthused over, knowing that the voice is gone 
which used to sing them. I am inclined to believe that 



552 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

the hardest part of growing old is remembering happier 
things. When thee writes thy paper on E. B. B. please 
bring in — 

In the pleasant orchard closes, 
" God bless all our gains/' say we; 

But may God bless all our losses 
Better suits with our degree. 

I think that after next week we shall certainly 
" turn up Jack " here, for there is no use waiting for 
settled weather, and the longer it is left the more the 
details grow into greater proportions. It is against my 
principles to wait for anything; rushing into it carries 
enthusiasm with it, but postponement makes it simply 
prosaic. ISTow I only meant to send thee a line, but 
thee must take what comes. 

A valued servant, and one who had lived with me for 
many years, had a severe attack of melancholia, which 
was most distressing to all concerned. I had been en- 
gaged to write a paper for Library Day at the New Cen- 
tury Club, but my family wanted me to visit my dear 
friend Florence Cushing, thinking to more completely 
divert my mind from the trying scenes through which I 
had been passing; so I asked Pattie if she would take 
my place and read a paper on her favorite poetess, Eliza- 
beth Barrett Browning. She writes me this character- 
istic letter: 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 21st, 1898. 
My poor, dear Fin, thee has certainly been " through 
the wars," and I feel as if I ought to do something to 
get thee away from thoughts of poor Betty. There 
is so little difference between the sane and the insane, 
that it is always hopeless to deal with the mind diseased. 
I sometimes wonder if we are not all a little insane, 



1898. 553 

taking things so very seriously, and going into our daily 
duties with as much intensity as if our eternal salvation 
were to be worked out in that way. With Betty, it 
looks all so sad, for even when she is at her best she goes 
on in the weary routine of her work with a sort of hope- 
less feeling, and never has a ray of frivolity in her life. 
If she were obliged to go see the minstrels once a month, 
or listen to the veriest trash in a theatre, and see people 
skipping around half undressed, it would be much bet- 
ter for her than thy superior companionship. The very 
thought of her distress, and the impossibility of her 
knowing that it is all in herself, is really oppressive; but 
I believe the angels who look after us must be at their 
wit's end sometimes to know what to do, when we are 
all so deaf and blind and dumb with the routine of life, 
never seeing the joy of it all, or the blessings that are 
thrown lavishly in our way. If I were an angel (which 
I may never be), I have a plan to work out which seems 
to me likely to wake people up. I would be a funny 
angel, and keep people in fits of laughter over the small- 
est things. I would open up a field of lightness that 
is now closed, and insist on everyone keeping a cheerful 
outlook, because the end of all seriousness is so ridicu- 
lously short of the intention which put us here, and the 
fine issues of joy are so much nearer the design. How- 
ever, I cannot work out my theory, but state it now, 
simply to keep thee on the lookout for it, when I shift 
this mortal coil. No ghost of sadness will haunt thee 
there, but a jolly good fellowship with everything that 
lives, animate and inanimate, for " I think we are too 
ready with a complaint in this fair world of G-od's." 

" pusillanimous heart, be comforted, 
And like a cheerful traveler take the road, 
Singing beside the hedge." 

This brings me to thy evident insanity in asking me 



554 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

to help thee in thy paper on Mrs. Browning. Of course, 
my willingness goes without saying; but it seems to me a 
mistake to give into other hands the plans that are only 
in thy own mind. For my part I could not trust any- 
one with my thoughts of Mrs. Browning, much less try 
to improve on thine. If thee reads her love-story in 
that inimitable letter to Mrs. Martin, it covers so much 
ground and will take so much time that thy comments 
may be short; but as to telling her life without her 
poems, it seems a good deal like the play of " Hamlet n 
without the ghost, i" would not undertake it. Please 
understand I am ready to do anything for thy relief, 
but two people cannot work out the same idea, and it is 
under protest that I am ready to take thy challenge. 
Just think over it a little before thee lets thy paper out 
of thy hands. 

Yesterday, in the continuation of a three-days' rain, 
I found great entertainment and companionship in 
reading over " Aurora Leigh." It brought back to my 
mind the first reading of it, when it was just published. 
Alice sent it to me, and under my name she wrote, 
" New Year's Day, 1857." It came when I was fast in 
bed; laid on the shelf figuratively (or so far as duties 
went), but actually in a most receptive mood. Dear Sis 
came into my room with the book, and offered to read 
it aloud to me. Nothing could have been more charm- 
ing! The wind was howling around the house, and the 
windows of the " North Turret " were drifted with 
snow; the meadow below was white, and the fascinating 
creek beyond looked black on the edge of the woods, 
where the great trees were twisting their branches to- 
gether and breaking the little twigs into flinders; while 
we were cozy inside with a cheerful fire, and " Aurora 
Leigh " to complete our satisfaction. All this day Sis 
read and I listened, and such a day could never be re- 
peated. Surely never was a more fascinating love-story. 



1898. 555 

Long before Aurora herself knew it the reader was sure 
of her love for Komney, and all the elements of develop- 
ment were woven into their separate experiences, so that 
the finale is forever to me a perfect picture of what true 
love should be. 

" Beloved, let us love so well, 
Our work shall still be better for our love; 
And still our love be sweeter for our work/' 

I never can forget how Sis played with my impa- 
tience to " have things come out all right," and when 
she read " the heart's sweet scripture," etc., and stopped, 
I cried, " Go on! go on! " which she did, in words that 
are forever mine, — : 

" When all's done, all tried, all counted here, 
All great arts and all high philosophies, 
This love puts its hand out in a dream, 
And straight outreaehes all things/' 

— the climax was reached, and I flung a pillow at her 
to ease my overwrought feelings. How we did laugh, 
and how, the strain being off, we went back and over the 
whole thing, and began to enjoy it more than at first. 
Well, the picture came so vividly yesterday, as I read the 
same sweet lines; and I am glad that in spite of the loss 
of all youthful enthusiasm it means the same to me 
still. 

Mrs. Browning is my " Moon of poets/' as she was 
to her husband; but I am not going to enthuse any more. 
I am more concerned that thee shall break the 
spell of dispiriting thoughts by getting away 
from home, whether to Boston or to Atlantic 
City I do not care ; but please keep thy mind 
off of Betty, whom thee cannot help at this junc- 
ture. She probably is not a bit more insane than 
thee would be with the same kind of life, and that brings 



556 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

me back to the moral of this letter. Do not be too seri- 
ous, but cultivate laughter. I believe we would be for- 
ever young if we could keep the enjoyment of the little 
nothings which made us laugh in our youth. If I were 
to turn myself loose on thee now as I did then, what sil- 
liness might we not find still? — such as Sap-sago 
Cheese, and the contrasts afforded by thy audience!! 

Thee may not believe it, but I am very much inter- 
ested just now in making a night-dress on my new sew- 
ing-machine, though I will admit this letter is some- 
thing of an interruption. Now I will go to work again, 
and say good-bye to frivolity and thee. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 25th, 1898. 

Well, Fin, I have gone over thy paper, and I have 
read the book also with as much absorption as at first, 
and I really cannot see anything but extracts from it 
to add to what is already written. Thee has marked 
just the passages I would have chosen (and if thee 
would like it I will put another mark outside of thine 
in blue), but when these are read thee will find thy 
audience quite willing thee should stop. It is a great 
mistake to make too long a paper, and Sam Weller cov- 
ered the ground when he shortened his letter " to make 
her wish there was more." Now I am quite serious 
about this, and after writing one page about her father, 
I found myself hopelessly mixed with thy notes, which 
after all are only extracts. I have just written a note to 
Helen asking her to bring up the second volume on 
Sunday. Whether I will alter my mind after seeing it, 
remains to be seen; but I think not. She tells her own 
story so much better than thee or I could, that additions 
are not improvements. . . . 

If thee carries her life on to the end, there is an em- 
barrassment of riches, but if thee simply gets her mar- 
ried and " living happy ever after " there is too much 



1898. 557 

left out. My extracts from " Aurora " could not come 
in in that case, yet I think they are significant of their 
own love and work together. I certainly never felt so 
awkward in writing before, and I assure thee it would 
have been easier to write the whole thing than to make 
additions. Thy paper to my mind is already complete, 
with the exception of those extracts, so do content thy- 
self with them. 

Anna Coggeshall and I were out at Darby this morn- 
ing, leaving Bessie to her own devices, and on Sunday 
we are to go out to Millbourne together. I have written 
Helen to meet us there, unless she can come up here to 
dinner. 

Howard was here this afternoon, and reports his 
father not well, and " a most rebellious patient! " I be- 
lieve it is only a very bad cold, but John's high health 
has never taught him the graces of fortitude. He says 
he thinks Carrie is very neglectful of him. When this 
is said, his state of mind needs no comment. 

This evening we are all going in to hear Horatio 
Dresser at St. George's Hall. I hope he will confirm my 
favorable impression, but it is not always the case when 
we meet a good writer. Yesterday we were much enter- 
tained with cousin Coleman Sellers on " Spiritual Man- 
ifestations, and How to Avoid Deception," which I 
think was rather a misnomer. He touched very lightly 
on Spiritualism, which when it becomes a cult or a re- 
ligion is a personal possession, and hard to dislodge. He 
himself would not wish to take away anything which 
tends to comfort or help, but after investigating hun- 
dreds of mediums he had never found a single honest 
one; and then he proceeded to expose some of their 
tricks, such as slate-writing, cabinet-tying, etc., etc., 
and finally gave us a regular seance in tricks, but no ex- 
pose of Spiritualism. . . . 

We had Anna, Steve and Bess here to supper the 



558 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

night thee left, and we did nothing but frivol, which 
was a great relief. We really had a lovely evening; Bess 
was her best and funniest, and Steve simply inimitable. 
Now this must go, for I must get myself into a 
proper frame of mind to hear Mr. Dresser; and beside, 
it is supper-time. Do give my love to Florence, and tell 
her to improve thy mind as much as she can, but not 
too much to associate with thy loving M. S. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 28th, 1898. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, is before me, and if thee would 
really like to stay longer in Boston, as thy children 
want thee to do, I will take thy place on the platform, 
although I feel most unworthy of the position. If I 
should do this I would want to rewrite the article, be- 
cause our eyes are not alike, and cannot easily be 
mixed together. Now think over this proposition, and 
give me the earliest possible notice of thy wishes. No 
need to tell thee that I simply hate the idea of a Wil- 
mington audience; but I am sure that anything about 
Mrs. Browning would be interesting, in spite of the 
mouthpiece; therefore I am willing to sacrifice myself 
on the altar of sisterly affection. As thee has made the 
break from home it is a pity not to get everything out of 
the visit, and certainly it would not do to shorten it on 
acount of this paper. If thee has any doubts in thy 
mind about staying, it need not be on this account, so 
make up thy mind according to feeling. 

I look upon myself in this letter as a model of all 
the virtues, and hope thee appreciates it; for I am, of 
all people, most unwilling to put myself in a place that 
does not naturally belong to me. Now if I could read 
a paper like Mrs. Deland, who spoke for us yesterday at 
the Ethics, I would make thee stay in Boston to give me 
a chance!! She was certainly charming; so natural, so 
vigorous, so healthful and suggestive, and the twinkle 
of her eyes showed infinite humor. 



1898. 559 

Helen came up and joined us out at Millbourne, re- 
turning with Anna Coggeshall and myself to supper here 
at home. We had a nice little visit out there, and found 
John much better, he generously admitting that he had 
been cross, and that " after all Carrie was pretty good 
to him." I told him I had published him in Boston, 
which he thought was very mean, but I left " Abby Gib- 
bons " to console him, and I think he will enjoy the 
book. Howard will not let him wear his new glasses 
(which the oculist strongly recommends) simply because 
of the appearance, but it is not glasses only that give 
one's age away. He looks lovely in them, but I cannot 
contend with a love of appearance only, although I went 
through much rebellion before I could adopt glasses 
myself. . . . 

(Evening.) — After my lovely ride this perfect win- 
ter day, I am so sleepy I almost forgot this letter; but 
my heart already misgives me for fear thee will take 
my offer. Thee knows for a certainty that I would feel 
awful to take thy place, but I know for a certainty that 
I will brace myself to do it if thee would like to stay. 
Only give me time to rewrite the article, which is abso- 
lutely perfect for thee, but a little too nice for me. I 
have added a couple of pages to thine, and end it with 
" Aurora Leigh "« but it can easily be altered to suit thy 
ideas. 

To-morrow a man is coming to take up our carpets, 
and we will at once feel in a mess. I look forward to 
that condition with perfect equanimity; so thee sees I 
am lost to all domestic virtues, and simply have resigned 
myself to be charming with Mrs. Browning, and to live 
in her atmosphere. 

Now good-bye, with love to Florence. 

P. S. — I am afraid thee will be spoiled with all the 
social life of Boston. 



560 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

My reading one of her letters to some friends in 
Boston was the cause of this letter: 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 4th, 1898. 

Well, Fin, I have just finished the paper on Mrs. 
Browning, which goes to prove that the more one has 
to do the more one can do. When thy letter came my 
heart stood still, wondering how I could ever live up to 
thy expectations. We were in the midst of the wildest 
confusion. Every carpet up and every curtain down, 
and my brain in a whirl to find a place for everything, 
out of its place. For a whole day we have been eating 
lime, and drinking it too, and feeling its grit on every- 
thing in the house. Yesterday was the worst, when the 
wall finally came down; but in the midst of the flying 
dust and distracting hammering I sat peacefully down 
and wrote as hard as I could clip my own reminiscences 
of Elizabeth Barrett. I found it much easier than writ- 
ing a formal essay, and have left thy paper to be finished 
when thee is called upon again. Please do not think 
that I slight its merits in deserting it. I finally had to 
go on without looking at it, for I had more to say than 
thee ever dreamed of!! 

I have written to Helen to send me the ticket, and 
will go down to Saide's for over night, though I do not 
see how it is possible to leave home at this juncture for 
even an hour. The Wilmington folks cannot frighten 
me out of my subject, but I am perfectly satisfied that 
I shall breathe easier when it is over. 

Now there are some things which really deserve a 
good turn, and this paper has put thee under such obli- 
gations that I have no hesitation in insisting on some 
attention being paid me when thee gets back from thy 
mad career in Boston. 

Helen sent me one of thy letters, and I am about to 
send it to the Outlook for publication. It is a fine thing 



1898. 561 

to set an example, but finer to not only follow but out- 
do it! I am sorry thee is willing to publish thy imbe- 
cility in the cultivated circles of Boston society, but 
since thee is I think it would be well for thee to tell 
them all about my house-cleaning, which is going on 
with the wall down and the carpets up, and the floors, 
too. This would appeal to them; so hurry up and call 
an audience together, for I cannot bother trying to keep 
thee from the inevitable opinion forming upon thy lack 
of brain. Sometimes I think I call forth imbecility in 
my friends. 

Tom is just now tip-toeing about in this mess, 
searching for lost wires; and stops in the midst to en- 
treat of me not to fall into the cellar through a six-inch 
crack, or get my foot twisted on the loose boards. If I 
should forsake my senses as often as my friends do I 
should probably be handed over to an asylum; but you 
can go on forever without any sense at all, and people 
accept the situation and " keep on sayin' nuttiin^," but 
my satisfaction is they think the more!! 

Perhaps it would be a good thing for thy audience 
to decide whether I am to put rugs down, which would 
necessitate a wood-carpet, or simply wait until thee 
comes home to go with me about getting a carpet. I 
have no hesitation in asking anything of thee now, for 
I consider myself a saint upon earth to have written that 
paper. As to going to Wilmington on Monday when 
everything calls for me here, it is only a proof that I 
am a perfect angel; so in the future thee will please 
treat me as such. 

I have to write a line to Sary, and an apology to Dr. 
Sharpless for having forgotten her tea, and a hundred 
and one things beside, so this is the last of M. S. 



562 THE STOET OF A LIFE. 

March 31st, 1898. 

Well, Fin, I suppose it is no difference to thee that 
I have been in bed for the last few days suffering the 
pangs of rheumatism. The doctor gave it a bigger name 
than that, but being " boiled down " I should call it 
lumbago. Whatever it was I am glad to be able at last 
to move without a scowl on my countenance. . . . 

I am downstairs again, with only a few twinges ; and 
for want of any other affliction I begin to feel very 
much injured because thee doesn't care anything about 
me. I knew Boston would spoil thee, but considering 
I unwillingly furnished part of thy amusement there, 
it would seem to me only decent for thee to say a word 
to me now and then. . . . 

Bessie is always attentive when I am sick, and I tell 
her she has missed her calling. She certainly ought to 
have studied medicine, for she is a born nurse, and if 
her mind were full of scientific facts there would be less 
room for wild imaginings. . . . 

I have imagined thee busy on thy lambrequins. Is 
this what has estranged thee from me? I am so far in 
sympathy with thee that I am very anxious to begin a 
table-cover in Bulgarian work. The dining-room needs 
some ornamentation, and I need a table-cover there 
very much, but am absolutely dependent on Wilming- 
ton for ideas. If Anne did not make out such senseless 
-bills I might consult her, but thee can at least advise 
me. 

We are beginning to enjoy a little peace and settle- 
ment through the house, though much remains to be 
done. While Tom does his little chores in the evening, 
I read aloud to him in " Philip and His Wife," which 
is well written, but not convincing on the subject of di- 
vorce. There seems to be as much to be said on one 
side as the other, but at least it gives a pause to one's 
excited sympathies. Between that and the war-scares I 



1898. 563 

have not lacked excitement on these rainy, dark days, 
but I assure thee it was a discipline to lie still when 
everything called me to be up and doing. 

On Sunday last I arranged with Annie Bancroft to 
go out to Bryn Mawr this week, but so far home is the 
only place for me. Staying at home, however, does not 
seem to bring thee into my horizon. I simply state 
this as a fact, not as a complaint; and I hope thee will 
reflect on it. 

I am doing penance for my sins by hemming some 
napkins, and feel this note is simply a desertion of the 
point of virtue attained. My finger is pricked, and I 
feel very " misable " about it, but duty must be done 
and pleasure ignored; so I will say a hurried good-bye 
to thee and take up my task again. 

Almost every mail I have looked for a line from 
thee, and thee can tell perhaps why I have been disap- 
pointed. Love to all my dear people, and even to thee, 
which shows that amiability is my weakness. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 11th, 1898. 

This encloses thy ticket, dear Fin, for which many 
thanks. My visit helped me very much, and I had an 

open talk with on the way up. " Oh, what a 

tangled web we weave when first we practice to de- 
ceive " ! ! I am taking Helen's advice to see clearly, and 
yet love through everything. Disappointments do 
take the starch out of me quicker than anything else, 
but it is my own fault always. I see that, but to find 
one's judgment at fault does not make the matter any 
easier. Well, I will turn my thoughts upon making 
pinks and imitating thy well-run household, and " as- 
sume a virtue though I have it not " ! ! 

I am just going up to the Hospital, and will try to 
get up more interest in that, to break up this sense of 



564 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

loss. I suppose / am just as disappointing to some peo- 
ple, although I do not willingly deceive. 

•I am haunted by that pathetic face of the Judge in 
at Chellie's, and her story about him this morning; and 
I think of E.'s belief in immortality which might make 
up for his disappointments here. Well, " it's aw a mud- 
dle "; but as " God's in His heaven, all's right with the 
world." It is only our limited vision that is at fault. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 18th, 1898. 
Enclosed, dear Fin, please find thy ticket-book, 
which I really cannot use this time. If I went to every- 
thing that is attractive in Wilmington I would be there 
all the time; and I have simply resolved to call a halt, 
and attend to some nearer duties. It was very sweet of 
thee to think of the ticket, and I am just as much 
obliged as if I had used it. I have just finished reading 
thy letter to Tom, who blushed at thy praises. We both 
feel as if we had hardly done justice to the occasion, for 
thee knows Anne is a great favorite with both of us. I 
ought to have taken them a ride after the Zoo, but I 
positively never thought of it until Tom asked me if 
I had done so before we went to the Zoo. I also did not 
make Anne get out at the house on the return trip, and 
I wanted her to see our old chair which came home 
during our absence in its new dress. . . . 

Speaking of a lady whom she cared for, and who yet 
was a continual disappointment, she says: 

A sense of loss is always present with me, and I am 
trying to adopt Helen's theory of seeing people as they 
are, and still loving them; but when this is quite accom- 
plished I shall be a skeleton. 

Tom is loud in his praises of your children, and cer- 
tainly they were all little models the day they were 



1898. 565 

here. I am so unused to children that I expected them 
to dash themselves to pieces all the time, and I went to 
bed with a feeling of having marred their day by my 
anxieties. I hope not, however, for I wanted them to 
think pleasantly of their old aunt. 

The other day I was walking up street and stopped 
to speak to some neighbor's children, about the age of 
Barbara. As I came back again I heard one little girl 
say to the other, " Here comes that old lady again, and 
I am going to speak to her "; so thee sees how my sen- 
sibilities are shocked. 

Tom is busy putting some little tin sides in the un- 
der part of the china-closet, which thee must see to un- 
derstand. Oh, there is no end to our inventive facul- 
ties! After long experience we have learned to turn 
defects in this house into beauties and conveniences. 
We are more and more pleased with the changes made, 
and I feel very triumphant because Tom opposed it so 
long. The book-shelves turned his mind into the same 
channel as mine, and now we both enjoy it alike. 

We took a ride of five miles this morning in the 
Park, and when I get my bicycle legs on again I shall 
enjoy it more. I am quite out of practice, and ought to 
go a little every day, but cannot always get company. 
Bess has simply disappeared from my horizon, whether 
she is with Flora or with her Aunt Sadie I am sure I do 
not know, but I miss her. . . . 

After my ride this morning I gardened and trimmed 
vines until my bones ached, so I must take my usual 
prescription of " early to bed," and say good-bye to thee. 

I know you will have a lovely time at the Confer- 
ence, and please do not forget to tell Mrs. Berlin how 
much I appreciate her invitation. 

In the summer of 1898 they took a cottage at Bryn 



566 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

Mawr for a couple of months, which was a never-failing 
delight to Sister Pattie. Jnne 8th, she writes: 

A large package of mail-matter has just reached me, 
the first tie to the outside world since getting into this 
quiet nest. Thy letter and postal, dear Fin, (contra- 
dicting each other), are among the rest; and I hasten to 
say I am hoping to be home on Friday, if not to-mor- 
row, and shall be more than delighted to have a visit 
from thee and Chel. . . . You simply must come and 
see the place, for it is quite ideal, and of such stuff as 
my wildest dreams could hardly imagine for myself. 
When you get out at Bryn Mawr Station take a hack 
there for Prof. Andrews's cottage, for which small ride 
you have to pay fifteen cents each; which is exorbitant, 
but in this hot weather a necessity. I shall look for you 
to lunch, and hope you will stay until evening so as to 
see it at its best. 

A visit from one of her sisters being proposed, she 
writes: 

Bryn Mawr, July 19th, 1898. 

Far be it from me to make any choice between my 
sisters, and you must fix it yourselves. Whichever one 
comes, the other one will have another visit hanging 
over her, for I am quite determined to have both. Does 
thee realize that nearly half our time here has gone by? 
The Andrews family will be turning us out, so my 
friends must put in an appearance if they want to visit 
me here. . . . 

Sallie Wierman has taken me out riding two or three 
times, and Mrs. Stambach, Dick Muckle's sister, has 
been lovely to me. She lives at Haverford, and agrees 
with me that there is no place like the country. To be 
" twelve miles from a lemon " and the post-office, too, 



1898. 567 

has its inconveniences, but to lie in the hammock and 
let the country soak in makes up for a good deal. 

All the frustrated hopes at 3303 Hamilton Street 
are fulfilled here, and I plant things with a perfect assur- 
ance of their response. Nevertheless, Tom and I are 
laying plans for a wood-carpet and rugs in the fall, so if 
we cannot have one thing we may have another. Tell 
Chellie she has to get through her little party in time 
to help me select rugs. I am not especially partial to 
them, but I realize here for the first time how much less 
trouble they are, with less dust and dirt to contend with. 
If I could adopt some other of the Andrews's ideas, it 
would be a good thing. 

We are surrounded by books, and every incentive to 
read, but somehow my mind does not work in that di- 
rection. When Sary told me of your piazza parties, and 
the vaulting ambition of preparing for the winter lec- 
tures, I felt myself a drone in the hive. Immediately I 
looked up Fiske, but found only his " History of the 
United States," which begins among the Indians, and 
in that half-civilized community I am now wandering. 
I have read several chapters, but cannot answer any one 
of the questions at the end, so it is quite evident I am 
not fit for your advanced classes. I am much more in- 
terested in the swallows overhead, who are now prepar- 
ing to make a second family. The first kept us busy 
enough trying to help them fly and keep clear of Earle's 
cat, which is here on a visit while they are away. I was 
glad when the little swallows found their wings, and got 
away from their treacherous foe. The Earles come back 
to-morrow, and " Frederick Charles " returns to his 
home, and I shall be glad. . . . 

July 30th, 1898. 
It would be rather interesting to me to see my last 
letter to thee. This morning when I was sitting peace- 



568 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

ably at my desk, Dora came in and said: "Yon need 
not think it was a shock to me to have yon tell me to 
go, and yon need not be sorry for me; yon had better be 
sorry for yourself; I intended to go anyway, bnt I meant 
to give yon a week's notice decently, and I should have 
given it on next Monday." I asked her what she meant. 
She said: "Oh, I read your letter to Mrs. Garrett, and 
you talked about its being a shock to me, and you were 
sorry for me," etc. I said, " Why, Dora, don't you think 
it was very dishonorable to read my letters?" " No," 
she said, " it wasn't sealed, and it wasn't finished either, 
for you had to go down to your lunch, and I came up to 
get the lamp, and I alius reads whatever I sees." The 
ethics of the thing had not restrained her, and she 
quoted at great length from my letter. I kept as quiet 
as possible, and told her she had done wrong; but I want 
you to look it up and see what horrible things she 
found. It appears she is in the habit of reading all let- 
ters that are not sealed, so probably she has reveled in 
yours likewise. A letter from Sary told me that Lizzie 
could not come until Wednesday, and I told Dora this, 
so she would not have to read it, and said: " You had 
better stay until Wednesday morning," which she con- 
sented to do without demur. At the risk of her reading 
this I will say it is quite plain she did not want to go; 
and though she professes to have various places waiting 
for her she cannot find any one yet that will give her 
the same wages, and this is all that keeps her here I 
suppose. Thank fortune, I am no longer afraid of her, 
and since I find her literary habits cannot be controlled, 
and she " alius reads everything," I think it is well to 
get her out of the way of temptation. . . . 

Bryn Mawr, August, 1898. 
Our time here is getting short, so if anybody wants 
to visit us I advise a prompt movement in that direc- 



1898. 569 

tion. I envy you the lovely talks and people dropping 
in, so do not come here until thee is quite willing to 
forego these pleasures. There is really nothing but my- 
self and absolute quiet here; but everyone knows my 
welcome is to be depended on, and I need say no more. 
As to Kitty Ferris, thee knows I always enjoy her, and 
when thee asks if I know her, I smile scornfully. I knew 
her before she knew herself, when her father urged the 
fact that "the Lord would not be cheated out of His 
harvests." I knew her when she talked in a high little 
voice suited to a ten-years-old child. I also knew her 
when she wanted " to make mince-meat of ' Bronson 
Alcott ' " at your Christmas dinner, and I knew her best 
of all when she wrote " Compensation." Now I think 
I ought to see some of her other poems (if not herself), 
and as the typewriter is there, please see that I am not 
neglected. 

I am glad thee wrote to B., and as I am going there 
to-morrow she will probably show it to me. I only sug- 
gested your writing for her entertainment, for I think 
we are too apt to forget the needs of the " shut-ins." I 
continually recall Tom Hood's regretful lines: — 

" The wounds I might have healed, 

The human sorrow and smart; 
But yet it never was in my soul 

To play so ill a part. 
But evil is wrought by want of thought, 

As well as want of heart." 

Bryn Mawr, August 22d, 1898. 
. . . Prof. Earle brought me thy letter, and he is very 
good about it. His wife is simply lovely to me, and is 
so natural and real that I am always helped by her com- 
pany. Her two sisters from New York are with her 
now, and have broken up our readings, and I told them 
yesterday they were my " bane." We all walked over 



570 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

to the new building, which thee must see when thee 
conies, and thee will find how simple people can be. 
The bedrooms never by any accident have a place for 
the beds, which to my commonplace mind is a defect. 
They — (the Earles party) — seemed to be greatly 
amused when they were discussing " what can this room 
be ? " by my suggesting " a bed-room, because there is 
no place for a bed." . . . 

Bryn Mawr, September 14th, 1898. 

Well, Fin, after thy praises, I am much humiliated 
to find myself laid on the shelf, when I am needed and 
expected at 3303 Hamilton. My warnings all come 
through my back, which I may ignore for a day or two, 
but finally I am floored, as now. A good rest and calm- 
ness of spirit will be curative, but my plans do not 
always work out with this idea of rest in the midst of 
things. I went to Darby yesterday, and stopped at the 
house, promising to return this morning, but it was no 
go. ... I wish I could lay claim to being a " wonder- 
ful manager," but thee will find my strength (if I have 
any) is in giving up my plans, and simply trusting to 
luck. Naturally this does not bring Wilmington results, 
and I look with shame on what I accomplish, but at 
least I can get " pleasure by the way " when business is 
not the first object. 

While Anne was here she never wasted a moment, 
and accomplished wonders. She has been well brought 
up, and all thy children show a capable and managing 
mother, so I will turn all thy compliments back to thee, 
where alone they are deserved. 

I have been working at my table-cover this morning, 
and was much interested, but as my first object was to 
recruit to-day I deliberately laid it down and wrapped 
myself up in a blanket in the hammock, hoping to re- 
new my back for to-morrow morning, when I must, if 
possible, be at 3303. I am ashamed to think how much 



1898. 571 

of my strength goes to little unimportant things, so I 
have none for the real emergencies. . . . 

Now it will not do for me to look npon the things I 
might have done. I must rather be glad that I have had 
such opportunities here to live a sweeter, and fuller, and 
more sincere life than is possible for me in town. I 
think my plans for next summer had better be left to 
Providence, who attended to this so beautifully. I know 
I cannot have this place, but perhaps something else as 
good, or better. 

I am glad Helen is going off for a holiday, and wish 
I could have thee (with a free mind), all the time she 
is away. . . . 

Trust to luck, Fin, and come when thee is invited, 
for we never can have just exactly the most convenient 
season. I am not going to be cheated out of thy visit 
with thy managing ways, so screw thyself up to the 
point and come, trusting Chellie to Providence, who will 
probably take care of her as well as thee. 

LETTER TO ANNE BRADFORD. 

3303 Hamilton Street, October 18th, 1898. 
After writing to Miss Lalonti, I feel as if I must say 
a word of thanks to thee for thy interest in my affairs. 
I suppose thee will hardly understand the relief it is, 
but then thee has never lived alone, or conceived the 
position of having no one to whom to appeal in matters 
of dress or adornment. It is a wonder I ever look de- 
cent, for Tom is worse than nobody, because he invari- 
ably assures me " you look just right/' whether it is in 
any old wrapper or my very best dress. He positively 
doesn't know the difference. Does thee think Mrs. E. 
an authority in the matter of style or fit? because I can- 
not have a girl in the house whom I have to boss. I 
sometimes think I had better content myself on ready- 



572 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

made dresses, for the details are such a burden. How- 
ever, thee knows I need some alterations, and I am 
quite willing to try Miss Lalonti, whether she makes my 
satin waist or not. If she comes, please advise me about 
that. 

I feel now as if I knew nothing without thee at my 
elbow, but I always know what I do not like. Just now, 
it is not having any one to talk to, when I am brimful 
of things to say. 

This afternoon I was hurried up from a comfortable 
rest to come down and see " Mrs. Lewis." I had not 
seen Mrs. Lewis for some time, and was glad she remem- 
bered me; so I felt grateful for the attention, and hur- 
ried as much as I could. As I came downstairs I called 
out to her, in my most cordial voice, " It is too bad to 
keep you waiting so long." As I entered the parlor I 
found an entire stranger, who was disposed to be as gra- 
cious as I, but finally explained that she represented the 
" New York Life." I pulled myself together, and said 
we took " Puck," and would hardly care for two funny 
papers. She looked at me for one sad moment, and then 
explained, " I mean the New York Life Insurance Com- 
pany! " So I was floored again, only knowing that all 
my money was already invested in rugs, etc. I made 
the interview as short as possible to let her down easy. 
She stayed, however, to explain to me the great advan- 
tages that would accrue to me if I could be insured as a 
man is, " even simply as an investment," which paper 
could be negotiated at four or five per cent. At last 
she was shown out of the door, and if she had only 
known the state of my bank account she would not have 
bothered with me. 

I wandered around Wanny's this morning, and 
thought it was very silly in me to get material for 
dresses when here they were ready to put on, but as thee 
was not there I did nothing. . . . 



1898. 573 

After all thy trouble in getting samples of my dress 
and coat to take home to thy mother, I felt deeply 
wounded that she never said a word about it. I 
imbibed something of thy feeling that she must 
have an interest in it, but I know now she 
hadn't. She is such a boss in her own family that 
her children never dare to breathe without asking 
her if they breathe right; but with me it is different. 
She has tossed me aside so long that I am simply hang- 
ing on to the skirts of her children who are good enough 
to look after me. It is so sweet and good in thee to do 
so much for me, and, as Father used to say, " I don't 
see how I can ever repay thee." . . . 

Last evening Dr. Hawley came over to see Mr. Smith 
about our book-cases in the library. He wants some 
" like them exactly/' if we are willing. He has some 
lovely books, and has just subscribed for the Turenne 
Edition of Balzac. He lent me two volumes — (entirely 
too nice to lend) — but I am reading " The Quest of the 
Absolute," and I wish thee were here to read it with me. 
This edition is absolutely new, and only 1000 issued, of 
which his subscription is No. 2. 

Quite rare to have such a chance to read old things 
in a new dress, isn't it? No more this time. With love 
to Harry and respects to thy mother, I am always the 
same M. S. 

LETTER TO ANNE BRADFORD. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 13th, 1898. 
Well, Anne, I missed the Tin Wedding, but I have 
not missed the Vansilows!! I have simply lived there, 
and am quite intimate with many of their customers, 
who, like me, are the victims of disappointment. To- 
day I sat in a perishing cold room for two hours, only to 
be told at the end, " Why, it vas too bad, but your en- 



574 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

gagement vas not put down, and your tings are not 
ready; if yon will come on Wednesday morning at ten 
o'clock they will be right ready! " Good humor never 
deserts them, and their customers also take that cue, so 
I said but little and promised to be there, though I had 
been counting up a bad cold against them. I really can 
do nothing without thee, and by the time I get this coat 
I shall not need it, as my fur cape will be indispensa- 
ble. . . . 

I have been quite distracted to know what to get for 
Tom's birthday on Wednesday, and I think he will be 
slightly surprised to find it — a new hat! I should have 
been glad to add gloves, but I knew there were limits to 
his amiability. Just now I am not looking up any ex- 
travagant presents for obvious reasons, but in case thee 
thinks of anything better than a hat, speak up! 

Thee will never know how disappointed I was about 
the Tin Wedding, and thy small present still stands at 
the front door ready to go. It is just as well it did not 
get off in time, for the tin part of it is so indistinct you 
would not consider it appropriate for the occasion. 
Everything depends on the standpoint, and I am always 
sure of thy attitude and appreciation of anything. Per- 
haps thee will some time reach my reputation as Annie 
Patterson gave it, " You are the nicest girl to give nasty 
things to in the world." 

Sunday after Thanksgiving, 1898. 
Well, Fin, I have been lying in bed for a week think- 
ing how amiable I can be under neglect. It is about 
time thee should show of what stuff thee is made in re- 
gard to " visiting the sick and afflicted," or if thee can 
still go on rejoicing in thy own superiority to the " ills 
of the flesh." I made one trip too many to old " Van- 
silow," where I got a frightful cold, which pushed me 
into close quarters, and into the clutches of the doctor. 



1898. 575 

After racking my mortal frame with a cough all this 
time — (like the one the cow had, concerning which 
bad words seemed appropriate) — I am just out of bed; 
and I will tell thee a few of the thoughts which passed 
through my mind as I lay chewing the cud of my bitter 
fancies. " Not one word from the Garrett family; they 
do not care a mite; they are too busy with their own af- 
fairs to know whether you are dead or alive; they are 
probably making beautiful Christmas things, and talking 
about subjects of a public nature or of an improving 
character; they have no time to bother with sick people. 
Well, they cannot shake me off in this way; the minute 
I can sit up I will write to Fin," etc., etc. . . . 

Our Thanksgiving was a mixture of spoon victuals 
and turkey. Tom had the latter all to himself down in 
the dining-room, and I had the slops up in bed. It was 
a day to be thankful for all home comforts, however; 
and I watched the wretched people with their draggled 
skirts and was glad I did not have to go out. In the 
evening Mr. and Mrs. Noble called. It was a great sur- 
prise; they were taking Thanksgiving at his brother's, 
and came over to see us. She sat on the side of the bed, 
and I enjoyed looking at her; and* why beauty is not a 
more general gift I cannot imagine. It certainly has an 
appeal of its own. Now, if I had been a raving beauty 
thee would have been running up to see me two or three 
times this week, instead of neglect, shameful neglect. 

Helen Marot has been faithfulness itself, but I make 
no contrasts " and name no names." Lizzie has main- 
tained her stone-image attitude, but is good; and Tom 
has been standing on his head (figuratively) all the 
week. 

Now answer this at once. 



576 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, November 29th, 1898. 

Ah, Fin, she's a good little thing after all! Of 
course, I thought Sary had told of my being in bed when 
she and Elinor called. . . . That was at the beginning 
of my experience, when I had not indulged in bad 
thoughts about the Garrett family. She told me, 
among other things, that Brother William was not well, 
and I think this made me really ill. I wrote a letter to 
him in my stupid way (without materials), and every 
time I woke up it was still the same thought, entreating 
him to get well. Whether he did or not I cannot tell, 
but it is really much easier for me to be sick myself than 
to think of Lucifer falling. Strength is what I admire, 
mental and physical, and it is a necessity in this world; 
but if William undertakes to forsake this position it 
makes the whole world weak to me. Now the next 
thing thee will begin, and I give thee fair warning not 
to look to me for sympathy. It is as much as I can do 
to keep my Mental Science principles anyway, and I will 
not weaken them by letting myself down to physical ail- 
ments. 

Yesterday Mrs. Eeese came in, and told me a long 
and most pathetic story of a young girl who is now the 
librarian at Darby, and ever since I have felt as if I 
ought to be up and doing to brighten her life. I have 
just written to Alice, whose fertile brain is equal to al- 
most anything, and she will be sure to think of some- 
thing. Mrs. Sidney Lanier is her aunt, and she writes 
to Mrs. Reese, " I am going to stay a few days with 
Louise at Darby, for I think she needs a background in 
this strange place." We certainly all depend uncon- 
sciously on our natural background of good ancestry, and 
no one knows how much it does for us, but without it 
we should know that standing alone is no joke. We 
have to do it more or less all the time, but " invisibly to 
thee spirits twain have walked with me/' which may give 



1898. 577 

to strangers a feeling of backing. This remark would 
almost do for B., who lives with the dead rather than the 
living. . . . 

Thy communication about the baby's name meets 
my approval entirely, not only for its association, but for 
its own intrinsic beauty. Now that we have got Chellie 
over that horrible " Judith " I begin to breathe a sigh 
of relief, for she had such a serene, calm way of clinging 
to it that I thought she might feel it in some sort an in- 
spiration, and one cannot interfere with religious convic- 
tions. Well, I like " Elinor," and if they will not call 
her " Ellie n I shall be happy. I hope to make her ac- 
quaintance at Christmas, but just now feel as if I were 
booked for home the rest of my natural life. Each day 
is like the one before it, and I am reminded of Mark 
Twain's diary, — " Got up, washed and dressed " each 
day in a week. I do not even do all of that, for the 
dressing is only from a night-gown to a wrapper. Here 
I sit up in my room the livelong day, not because I can- 
not go down, but to save up my strength for evening; 
and getting up and down stairs is not for me until I get 
stronger. Lizzie goes on in her mechanical way with- 
out a quiver of a muscle, and feeds me with something 
every few hours, so I shall turn out like those chickens 
in the Bois de Boulogne, " warranted to double their 
weight in two weeks." It looks wretched out in the 
street, and I have just sent my cards instead of myself 
to Mrs. Mcllvain's, who has a tea this afternoon. It 
was no temptation, so thee need not pity me. 

Our back yard is piled up with snow, and I am play- 
ing it is a mountainous district where the snow never 
melts, though I could wish it were less dirty in its per- 
manence. 

I have been reading " Marco Polo," and am not sur- 
prised at Columbus and all the rest of those adventurous 
spirits starting out to find what he describes. How 



578 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

young America seems!! And what a mess we are getting 
into through youthful bravado! All those poor soldiers 
at the Philippines would gladly let the islands go; and I 
am afraid there will be much more homesickness and 
heartache to contend with there, and with their friends 
at home. Poor Mildred has an anxious heart, with Will 
in Cuba, which place he hates; and indeed the enthusi- 
asm is all with civilians, politicians and stay-at-homes. 

I thought I had a great deal to say when I began this 
letter, but it seems I had nothing. My poor table-cover 
must wait, and so I hurried for nothing. Moral: " Never 
try to get things done." 

Here comes Lizzie, with her dish of slops, so good- 
bye, with love to each and all. 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 12th, 1898. 
Ever since that box of cotton came, dear Fin, I have 
been intending to acknowledge it; but now that I am out 
of bed I find so many things waiting for me that this 
has been neglected. No doubt thee will be simply dis- 
gusted with me when I tell thee I have concluded not 
to have a fringe on my table-cover, and will present thee 
with the balls of cotton on Christmas. From the first 
a fringe seemed superfluous to me, and took away from 
the border effect of the work, but knowing thy views, 
I " kep' on savin* nuthin'." It is a very strange thing 
how I lose in my own judgment when with thee, but af- 
ter thy " expansionist " ideas I feel that I must stand by 
my guns. The fringe is only a species of expansion, 
adding to the care and responsibility, and without any 
good result. I am satisfied, now that the cover is 
pressed and on the table, that I had better " let well 
enough alone," and I wish McKinley had come to the 
same conclusion long ago. He has got us into a terrible 
mess, and it was a great relief to me yesterday at Mill- 
bourne to find that all those black Republicans felt just 



1898. 579 

as I do about it. The Philippines are like the fringe to 
the table-cover, very draggy and superfluous. 

Ever since thee was here I have been going over thy 
arguments about this " divine war/' and I simply cannot 
see it! Tom says he wants to hear Lewis on this sub- 
ject, for he will have gone into it with so much delib- 
eration and conscientious thought. Tom himself seems 
to have two standpoints, one as an Englishman and the 
the other as an American, and these are diametrically 
opposed; so I have to think things out for myself, just 
as I have done about the table-cover. To go contrary to 
thy opinions seems the height of hardihood and auda- 
city, but at this distance I am quite bold. 

Yesterday we rode out to Millbourne, so thee sees 
how much thee helped me by getting me out that day. 
I have gone out a little every day since, and begin to feel 
more like myself. Oh, I cannot live without fresh air, 
and am already planning to get away from here next 
summer. Howard said yesterday, " I do not see how 
anybody could stay in town such a day as this. Well, it 
was perfect out there, and we got such a good welcome! 
It did me a lot of good. Now to-day I am holding on to 
myself not to be too anxious to go to the Symphony con- 
cert to-night. There is a feeling of snow in the air, and 
it will not pay me to run any risks; but still I have not 
given it up yet. 

On Saturday Tom began to read " The Gadfly " to 
me. It is intensely interesting, but too harrowing. He 
got choked up, and I had to finish it, being a stoic. We 
were glad to get away from it on Sunday, and my throat 
ached over it, so we both felt the need of change of 
thought. 

If thee should see Sary please tell her I do not see 
how she can have the hardihood to be dodging all 
around me. I meant to have answered her letter, but 
felt so wounded that I shall just leave it for a while. 



580 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

By the by, which day are you going to keep for 
Christmas? Sunday comes in, and will probably be kept 
by church-goers as Sunday, not as Christmas; but any- 
how tell me how you have arranged for the festivities. 
I do not believe I shall accept thy invitation to stay a 
few days at that time, but will wait until after the opera 
season is over. I have already missed many, and, inde- 
pendently of my own disappointment, it is not fair to 
Tom. I shall go down the day before Christmas and 
come up the day after, so far as I can see now. As to 
presents, I am now hesitating between getting a gown 
for myself, and being decent and generous to other peo- 
ple. I cannot run around town in either case, but must 
do my shopping by postals. I always have a horror of 
town after I have been fast in the house for a while. To 
keep hold of one's serenity among so many people is a 
great feat. 

" Make it mine 

To feel, amid the city's jar, 
That there abides a peace of thine 
Man did not make and cannot mar." 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 18th, 1898. 

Well, Fin, I wished for thee this morning when Tom 
and I went around the Park on the trolley, and that I 
didn't think of it when thee took me on my first outing 
must have been because I had not then got into a very 
adventurous spirit. It really was lovely, and when thee 
comes up after Christmas we must go, for I am sure thee 
would be delighted. 

I have been intending every day to write to thee in 
thanks for thy little book, which I have read with much 
interest. 

Mrs. K., with whom I am now very intimate, came in 
last evening to tell me of a Christian Science lecture 
she attended at Horticultural Hall Friday evening. A 



1898. 581 

Mr. Norton, a disciple of Mrs. Eddy, was the speaker of 
the occasion, and poor Mrs. K. was terribly mixed up 
about it. It reminded me of " Penelope's Progress/' 
when he threw his allopathic, Presbyterian, conservative 
heart at her homeopathic, Swedenborgian feet, etc. It 
is not a very accurate remembrance, but Mrs. K. was 
simply overwhelmed with this change of base. She 
asked me many questions about the attitude of the Sci- 
entists that I knew, and I told her they were none of 
them Eddyites. She rejects the idea of our being a part 
of the Divine Spirit, and, like all Swedenborgians, is so 
fully satisfied in her own belief that she cannot even en- 
tertain any other. I always feel like a bull in a china 
shop when I attempt to explain any of the tenets of 
Mental Scientists, and before I get through have broken 
up all the cherished ideals on each side. 

In spite of thy recommendations I cannot like Fanny 
Harley as well as Mrs. Cady, and her idea of the spoken 
word does not appeal to me as it does to thee. 

Here I was interrupted by a little tray being handed 
in from Mrs. K. and Miss W., containing a dish of jelly, 
a silver cream-cup full of delicious cream, and a plate of 
cake. Did I not tell thee I had become intimate with 
them ? It all grew out of opera-tickets, I think, but after 
this, when we use them ourselves, we may not be quite 
so popular. So far we have not been at all, for on Fri- 
day, when I was ready to go, Tom was suddenly taken 
with violent pains, which laid him up — (or low), — and 
finally put him under the doctor's care. There is so 
much of him to be sick I never know what to do. We 
gave our tickets for the opera to the Marots, and the 
Symphony went to Mrs. K., on account of the snow, 
which did not suit my frailties. Now I hope nothing 
will prevent our going on Monday, as it is " Lohengrin," 
and I never get tired of hearing it. We sent Sadie and 
Mildred the tickets for " Barber of Seville " yesterday 



582 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

afternoon. Mildred went to Washington on Tuesday 
last to attend the wedding of a Miss Gardner, one of 
Will's consins. She returned, I suppose, on Friday. 
When we were at Millbourne on Sunday, she read us one 
of Will's letters from Cuba, which was most interesting. 
He will be glad when the political volunteers are out of 
the way. He was enjoying the thought of being with 
" Gus "■ (his brother), who was to arrive the next day on 
the vessel for Admiral Sampson. The ins and outs of 
this war are yet to be developed, I judge, but certainly 
the naval record is much better than that of the soldiers, 
showing what results come from discipline, and from 
clearness of politics. 

I do not believe thee need be afraid of going to Mill- 
bourne, even with thy views on the war. Thy position 
with them is a pretty safe one, and indeed thee knows 
how jealous I always am of their devotion to thee. 

I am glad thee is willing to concede to me a small 
portion of judgment upon table-covers and such like, 
and I am entirely satisfied with mine, for in this house 
simplicity is a necessity. The moment I overstep in the 
smallest degree the line of " moderation in all things " I 
am sure to repent it; and I consider my table-cover a 
perfect work of art as it is now. 

Tom and I are greatly interested in the findings of 
the jury in the Kenney case, and I feel condemned to 
have let slip such an opportunity of hearing Lewis. 

I feel that I have not done justice to thy letter in 
this hasty note, but thee may count me as one who nat- 
urally leans upon the nearest support, but who has spent 
her life fighting this weakening process. Never mind, 
Fin, if I live long enough I shall yet be able to stand on 
my own feet. The only trouble is I am thrown with 
such superior people that it is a bother to keep up to 
their level. Come down to mine once in a while, it is 
so much more encouraging. 



1898. 583 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 22d, 1898. 

Thy letter, dear Fin, asking me to come down to dots 
about my visit, has forced upon me the fact that Christ- 
mas is really near, which I had not before realized. 
Well, I expect to go down on Saturday afternoon some 
time, but just .what hour and minute I cannot now tell; 
certainly before supper is ready. 

I shall be delighted to take dinner at Frank's on 
Sunday, but they need not make any arrangements for 
Tom. His plans are all made for the day, and I did not 
even try to change them; for it suits me much better for 
him to be here than there. I have promised Lizzie two 
days for Christmas, and if anything could break up her 
stolid composure I think it would be a disappointment. 
Somebody must be here to take care of the fires, and she 
goes Sunday morning not to return until Tuesday. She 
has represented to me the necessity of her staying to a 
church fair, and so I am trusting to Tom to make things 
go at home. It is quite important the fires should be 
kept up in this " grippy " weather, and I have brought 
up Tom so well that he sees this necessity. He says 
he can stand all thy jeers at his old-maidish ways, but 
could never stand any reproach for not taking proper 
care of me!! He will have to stir himself on Monday 
morning to get all the fires fixed, and the flowers wa- 
tered, and go in to the station for his breakfast, all in 
time for the Christmas gathering in Wilmington. I 
hope to stay with you until Tuesday morning, although 
I must miss another opera to do this. Still I do not 
believe in missing half by trying to grasp both; and 
Christmas cannot be hurried up. 

Small packages of rather a suspicious nature are com- 
ing in here for me, but I carry them all with me un- 
opened to swell the list. I take so little for other people 
that I am rather ashamed to receive, but shopping is not 
for me this year, even if I had the purse of Fortunatus. 



584 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

It is a comfort to know that my presence is considered 
before my presents. 

3303 Hamilton Street, December 29th, 1898. 

I am sure thee will think, Fin, that I have lost my 
manners, not to have written after such a lovely visit. 
What has become of the time I hardly know, but I have 
been busy ever since I came home, with nothing to show 
for it. My usual habit of unpacking my trunk at once 
was broken this time, but I finally got it done, and had 
my presents on exhibition when Tom came home. That 
very evening we hung " Homer " over the sofa, where it 
looks made for the place, and greatly adorns it. We 
also put the " Blessed Damosel " at the end of the sofa 
under the water-color, and it looks very well. All our 
things are lovely, and Tom is eating with his fork, to his 
intense satisfaction, thinking things taste much better 
thereby. We had a lovely time as usual, but I feel that 
I was very quiet, instead of making myself agreeable. 
The truth is, Fin, I shall forget how to talk if I live so 
much alone, and have to lie down instead of going out. 
My back has kept me rather discouraged since I came 
home, but in spite of it I went to hear " Lohengrin " last 
night, and got home between twelve and one. It was 
really too long. . . . 

I have been all day on the sofa, not even reading; and 
all the notes I meant to write to the different people who 
remembered me on Christmas have still to be writ- 
ten. . . . 

I am reading "What All the World's a-Seeking," 
which I will lend to thee if I think it is fit for thee. That 
book of Fanny Harley's I like very much, though it as- 
sumes a general knowledge of Mental Science that its 
readers may not possess. I feel like getting " Mrs. 
Cady " bound in attractive binding, for mine is coming 
to pieces from much reading. It is the most f orgetable 
of all subjects. 



1898. 585 

Tom cut out the enclosed for his scrap-book, but I 
want thee to read it, and Lewis, too, for it seems to me 
the " American method " is better than the inevitable 
annihilation of the weaker races. However, it will prob- 
ably come to the same thing, only I do not want our 
men to be sacrificed for the Philippines, or for Cuba, 
either. Unless they could eventually raise the standard 
for these savage people it does not seem worth while; and 
I do not much believe in taking other people's responsi- 
bilities. It is quite contrary to all thy preaching, too, 
for thee believes, as I do, that " every tub should stand 
on its own bottom." And if the Philippines have any 
bottom it will be shown by their growth and their 
gradual lifting of themselves from their low estate, now 
that they are free of the Spaniards. 

I got my things on this morning to go to Darby, it 
was such a perfect day; but I had to give it up, al- 
though perfectly well. About four inches of my spine 
settles the hash for me!! "Well, I shall be better to-mor- 
row, and would perhaps send thee a nicer letter if I 
waited; but I am really ashamed not to show my appre- 
ciation of our lovely visit, and this must go, just for the 
purpose of showing I am not quite a heathen. 

Now when I see how busy you all are, I wonder you 
ever get time to come see me; and yet I expect it and 
count on it. Even that placid, serene-looking Mrs. 
Shearman expresses herself to the effect that there is 
too much rush, and Wilmington especially is more than 
busy. She looks as if she kept out of it, but I suppose 
not, since the " Century Club would look after people " 
that did not keep up to the procession. 

Now, Fin, it is past eight, and I am going straight 
to bed, so thee may wonder how I kept up to your be- 
guiling hours. Good-night and good-bye. 



CHAPTEE XXIV. 

1899. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 7th, 1899. 

Enclosed, dear Fin, please find stamps to pay for my 
beautiful Brandywine Calendar, which now hangs over 
my desk. I am quite charmed with it, and feel as if the 
new year were fairly begnn, now that my various calen- 
dars are hung around in their appropriate places. So 
far I have not gotten into the spirit of the season, but 
it is because my thoughts were on other things. 

Steve came on Tuesday, and I used him in many 
ways; among others in searching up delinquent rela- 
tions. You cannot sneak up to town now without my 
finding it out, and it would greatly redound to your 
credit if you would pay some attention to your friends 
in West Philadelphia instead of wasting your substance 
in shopping. The least you can do now is to " rise to 
explain." Steve is very nice and homey, and comes and 
goes at his own sweet will. . . . 

In Friday's Ledger Cleveland has a short article, 
which agrees with Lewis's theory of disposing of the 
Filipinos. He is very sarcastic, but a very earnest anti- 
expansionist. Thee knows I believe in Cleveland as a 
statesman, in spite of all the hatred he received from his 
own party as well as from the Kepublicans; and history 
will set that all right. As to McKinley, — well, if he 
had a good back-bone of his own, instead of leaning on 
Hanna's, he would do well; for I think his intentions 
are good. I am too tired, however, to discuss these 
troublesome subjects, so good-bye and good-night. I 
shall take Fiske upstairs with me, for " Virginia and 



1899. 587 

Her Neighbors " has fascinated me completely, and 
" The Gadfly " and " Helbeck of Bannisdale n are tame 
beside it. They simply are " not in it." 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 13th, 1899. 

Such a hurry I was in when I wrote, dear Fin, that I 
forgot to say a word of thanks for the calendar, for 
which thee refused stamps. It was like thy wild way 
of keeping books, — putting things down before they 
are paid. Well, I enjoy this profuse way myself some- 
times, so I understand how very bothersome the stamps 
were without any apparent purpose. 

I have been very busy of late going to operas, and 
attending to the kitchen stove for the hospital, and rest- 
ing between-whiles. I wish you were nearer, that you 
might take our tickets to-night; but we have handed 
them over to Steve, who is absorbing all the music he 
can get. Four operas in one week are too much for the 
likes of me, and Tom is very anxious I should go with 
him to-morrow afternoon; therefore, I lie by to- 
night. . . . 

My mind has been so absorbed by the tragedy next 
door that I can think of nothing else. Miss Edith Au- 
reus has simply disappeared since last Saturday. Her 
mother is nearly crazy over the terrible suspense, and 
the city and country are being searched everywhere. 
She was shopping with her niece on. Saturday, and they 
parted at Thirteenth and Market. She was seen after- 
ward walking out towards home, but since then, nothing. 
In this same square a sweet little woman (with three 
small children) died the other day; but that was peace 
itself compared to this. . . . 

The day is dark in the house, and impossible in the 
streets, but I am snug as the proverbial bug, by the fire, 
with old " Virginia and Her Neighbors " to beguile me. 



588 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 18th, 1899. 

Well, Fin, I will forgive thee, and am glad in one 
way, as proving that thy mental caliber is no better than 
mine. My forgetfulness is sometimes appalling, but my 
inefficiency still more so. I wish I had Mary Malcolm, 
or any one who would put my wardrobe in order; but I 
spend so much on outside experiments that I simply go 
about in rags. 

My visit to old Yansilow yesterday was a lesson to 
me for the future, but whether I will profit by it re- 
mains to be seen. The idea of a coat measuring nine 
inches across the back, when it should have been twelve ! 
Of course I could not get into it, and he had probably 
mixed his measures. He is a nasty customer, and I was 
glad Tom was with me to " jump on him " when he be- 
gan to be ugly. He simmered down immediately. 

This morning Tom is going with me to a certain 
ravine in the Park, where it seems to me so easy for Miss 
Ahrens to have wandered. She certainly did not drown 
herself that day, for she was seen by her nephew on the 
way out Fortieth street Saturday afternoon. Poor Mrs. 
K. looks as if the blow had fallen very heavily on lier, 
and what must it be to the mother? Mrs. K. will not 
believe in suicide, for " Edith had a special horror of it," 
and they cling to the clue in Baltimore. Nothing has 
come of it, however; and I think it would be a real relief 
to know of her death. 

(Noon.) Well, Tom and I have had a long walk 
through all the ravines in the West Park, and even 
through some of the culverts. It was bleak and drear 
enough, but I did not realize how open everything is in 
winter in comparison with summer, when all these ra- 
vines look so dark and tangled. 

I have just been in to see Mrs. K. again with this lost 
hope, and while there a messenger came from the Ah- 
rens household, with word that nothing had been heard. 



1899. 589 

Her nephew had gone to Baltimore, but no word as yet. 
The suspense is too awful to contemplate. 

Thy account — (and Kate Febiger's) — of the Club 
Anniversary agrees with my idea that you always " go 
one better " than anybody else, but I am afraid you will 
get stuck up over your numerous successes, and think 
no one is quite equal to you. . . . 

If ever I am fast in the house as Alice P. is, the con- 
ditions will greatly differ. She has to turn away her 
friends sometimes on account of too many coming at 
once. I am glad to think she has this lift from the 
monotony, for time drags so heavily when one is fast 
in the house. I feel like a vampire, luring all the 
chance people into my net, and draining them of their 
life-blood. I think Steve must feel really depleted, for 
we kept him talking all the time, and feel very solemn 
since he left. Tom and he really enjoyed each other, 
and between them kept the ball rolling. Being unlike 
in everything else, they are alike in the necessity of ap- 
preciation to bring them out; and their talk was really 
most interesting to me. Lizzie cannot be persuaded to 
get meals on time, and that was the only wearing thing 
to me in Steve's visit; but one has to put up with some- 
thing. 

I have just sent a postal to Mrs. Matilda Barton; — 
(no relation to H. L.). Well, she is the colored lady 
whom thee met at our door. Something must be done to 
keep the few hairs I have fast in my head, and I may as 
well try her before I resort to a wig. When I think of 
that man in Germantown dying " at the ripe age of 
sixty-one," I feel that such a cumberer of the earth had 
probably no more hair than I have; but then it doesn't 
make so much din 3 erence with a man. Is it not a strange 
thing that we ourselves are eternally young, no matter 
what our bodies show forth, or what other people may 
think? If we pick ourselves up on the other side of Styx, 



590 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

we shall be what we know ourselves to be; and I would 
like to turn back just for a minute to flip my fingers and 
say to those who follow me that far, " I am young as any 
of you, and fresher and more vigorous and more charm- 
ing than it is possible for you to be." Even now, with 
all my disabilities, I feel young; but then and there I can 
never grow old. It would be more to the purpose, how- 
ever, if I stopped talking to thee, and went to attend to 
duties calling me; but I feel like a chat, and only the 
end of the paper stops me. 

3303 Hamilton Street, January 19th, 1899. 

Enclosed, dear Fin, is an address that Dr. Sharpless 
has passed on to me to read, she having failed to do so. 
If I cannot do it, why should thee? Still, perhaps thee 
has some key in familiarity with Delaware names. 

We are still on the search for some information of 
Mrs. Weston, and if thee can get it, so I may know some- 
thing when I go to the executive meeting on Tuesday 
next, it would be an accommodation. Her name is 
Laura E. Weston, and she was matron for seven years at 
the enclosed mysterious place. Dr. Sharpless has writ- 
ten to " Gooding/' and I am sure I do not know what she 
wants me to do about it, only they apparently all hold 
me responsible for things in Wilmington. 

Kate Febiger says I made a great mistake not to be 
at the Anniversary, and Sadie Sellers also lamented my 
loss; but Alice Smyth and Mary Mather yesterday made 
me quite miserable about it, and I feel that the oppor- 
tunity of my life has gone. If thee had told me thee 
had a speech to make I should certainly have gone, and 
all agree that it was a most happy effort. Oh, there is 
nothing like keeping in touch with people to brighten 
up the faculties, and to this lack I attribute all my stu- 
pidity! Certainly it cannot be a natural defect. 

Now, if M. M. is still with thee, please give her a 



1899. 5^1 

chance on Mrs. W., and so redeem thy character. I 
will not mix thee np by talking of other things, for I 
know thy mind will not hold more than one idea at a 
time. M. M. may think me " funny/' but thee will not 
find me so if thee neglects me again. 

February 7th, 1899. 

The knitted shoes and thy postal, dear Fin, came to- 
gether this morning. It seems to me very queer thee 
does not naturally draw from thy experience in Phila- 
delphia the inference that the only place to go to in win- 
ter is 3303 Hamilton, where knitted shoes and warm 
rooms prevail. If thee is so obtuse it rests with me to 
point the moral. . . . After this, remember that this is 
thy only abiding-place in Philadelphia, and do not sneak 
in and out of this city without informing me. 

I fully intended going to the Alliance, but all my 
excitements are knocked in the head by this miserable 
sick spell. Here I am in bed still, but I hope to be up 
before long. Dr. Eichardson called this morning — 
(not on account of my sickness), — and strongly urged 
my keeping in bed for a few days longer. A committee 
is to meet here to-morrow morning, and she says I must 
have them in my room, which gives a languid air to the 
whole thing, averse to every instinct within me. She 
thinks energy is for them, not for me, but as chairman 
I am responsible, and as a hostess, a fraud. 

Alice Pearson writes, " I wish thee would not go 
around with those Amazons," meaning thee and Kate, 
and yet I have lived on it ever since.* To be in the 

* Though Pattie and I had lived all our lives so near Philadel- 
phia, yet we had never visited the State House, the Mint, Car- 
penter's Hall, or any of the historic places; so Kate Febiger, feel- 
ing that our education had been woefully neglected, undertook to 
show us the sights, and enlighten us. It was a very cold day, and 
I am afraid we none of us realized how weak Pattie was, and the 
expedition was followed by several days in bed. 



592 THE STORY OP A LIFE. 

midst of those old heroes at the State House and Car- 
penters' Hall was an inspiration and a lesson. They 
were building a sure foundation with good principles of 
government, and we are throwing it carelessly aside. 
Perhaps thee is like Miss Bardwell, another Expansion- 
ist. When I spoke of the Constitution and the " consent 
of the governed," etc., she replied, " I would no more be 
bound by a constitution than by a creed." And yet it 
seems to me we ought to live under it while we have it, 
or else formally resign our allegiance. The petition pre- 
sented to Congress the other day by thinking men con- 
veyed the truth as I see it; but I cannot convince thee 
and I try not to think of it while I feel so miserable. 
Now that the treaty is ratified things will shape them- 
selves accordingly, and I cannot stop it. The only com- 
fort I have is to save Sodom. While I lie here quietly, 
and think of the snow and all the gentle forces of Na- 
ture, I am content; but when one gets into a turmoil 
of thought it is hard to realize that these forces still 
exist, and will yet bring order out of chaos, even in an 
upturned community. I would like Eagan and Alger 
to get their " come-uppins," but I do not mind McKin- 
ley any more than " Tomlinson." 

Mrs. Howell has just been in to see me, bringing lit- 
tle dainties and much encouragement. She is my best 
neighbor, and always turns up when I am ill. This time 
it is simply a case of sick-stomach and faintness, but 
that, thee will acknowledge, is rather demoralizing, be- 
ing continued so long. My bed is piled up with books, 
but stupidity induces me to lie like a log while thee is 
clipping along carrying everything before thee. Now, 
reversing the picture, I wonder how it would be? Pa- 
tience with one's self is harder to learn than patience 
with other people, but I am sure thee could fill my place 
better than I could fill thine. Fortunately, the choice 



1899. 593 

is not offered, and we must each do the best we can in 
our different paths. 

Yesterday, in bed, I rewrote my will, or, rather, re- 
considered it. Days make a difference in one's will, 
and how much more change does a year or two make. 
There are only one or two things that remain stationary, 
but they become rocks on which to plan the whole. I 
still keep thee as one of my executors, and largely de- 
pend on thy good sense in interpreting and energy in 
administering my large estate. 

I wrote all this at long intervals, and could keep on 
indefinitely if it were not for the discomfort of writing. 
I have much to say, and more to think, but I will say 
good-bye now. 

3303 Hamilton Street, February 10th, 1899. 

Well, Fin, I am glad thee has made up thy mind to 
improve thyself in any one direction. I should not have 
selected expression as thy weak point, but thee knows 
best. I rise from my recumbent position to exhort 
thee never, never to be " willing to exchange places " 
with me, even in fun. I know I have many alleviations 
and comforts, and even pleasures, but the one thing of 
usefulness is denied me, and a back seat is not what 
thee could tolerate. It is " not all beer and skittles " to 
stay in bed when one's whole being responds to this ex- 
hilarating weather. It is just the kind of winter I love, 
but I must take it at second-hand as yet. 

Yesterday I went down into the parlor to enjoy the 
fire, and get a different focus on things. To-day I am 
back again in bed, against my will but certainly not 
against my comfort, and here I must stay until I get 
more able for being up. The other day I had a com- 
mittee from the hospital meet in my room. It was the 
only way; and although I did nothing, yet I felt as if 
the exertion was tremendous. Just be thankful every 



594 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

day for thy good health, for it is the one reliable capital 
in this world, and the good backing of every other good 
thing. Thee would not be so ambitious for self-im- 
provement if thee had no back-bone, but thee will no 
doubt think this a matter of will, so it is a question 
which our opposite minds cannot well settle. 

There is an article in this month's Atlantic on 
" Love of Poetry " which may give thee some ideas for 
thy paper; the one I most care for is the fact of a 
" leisurely frame of mind " to enjoy it. Being the best 
thought of the best minds makes poetry only acceptable 
through our own best, — "a heart at leisure from it- 
self," freedom from work, and willingness to renounce 
even our besetting virtues! I fully believe in the the- 
ory that one must give of one's best to receive the best. 
Well, I think I can trust thy paper to thyself, although 
I would like to see it, even if I do not get to the March 
meeting. 

Of course, thee has seen " The White Man's Bur- 
den," by Kipling. It will meet thy views, and those of 
Lyman Abbott, who is an Expansionist from a religious 
standpoint. This missionary spirit does not appeal to 
me, for I so fully believe in first sweeping before one's 
own door. 

People will get tired defending McKinley, and even 
John said yesterday, " Oh, he is too weak for anything." 

Will Almy and Mildred are in New York, and I 
hope he will get the position he wants and deserves. 

John was too sweet yesterday, and it only takes a 
hint of illness to bring him to the front. Sympathy 
is so natural to him that he cannot help showing it, and 
it is always acceptable and healthy. 

I had a lovely letter from Steve the other day, writ- 
ten from Anna's. He leaves them to-day for Windsor. 
When he first came here he was very urgent I should 
come up there in the early spring, but when he had 



1899. 595 

seen a little more of me he said that " the responsibility 
was more than he imagined/ 7 and his invitation sort of 
pindled out. None the less I feel inclined to try it. 
and I am sure of a welcome. That is the best part of 
the visiting, and, as he says, " to feel yourself one of the 
family, and not a guest." 

I have just been writing a little note to Mrs. Earle 
at Herbert's. I wanted so much to invite them here, 
but that is no go for me. 

Tom brought out last night a catalogue of suburban 
places, and there is every chance if money were plenty. 
I believe, however, that the way will open, for I have 
made myself a magnet to attract the best, and if it 
doesn't come it will be all right, for something else as- 
suredly will. I am a Mystic, and believe things are in 
order, and will arrange themselves for us. 

When thee gets thy paper done, bring it up for me 
to criticise before thee risks thy reputation with the 
public. 

Thursday afternoon, February 24th, 1899. 

Well, Ein, when I try to be generous and consider- 
ate, you must not think it is real> for I am only trying, 
not ieing so. In my heart of hearts I keep thinking 
you will come, no matter what I say, but when you do 
not come I am sick and sore, and feel " misable " not 
to see you. Since Sary has a sick husband she ought 
not to spend her time on me, but all thy business en- 
gagements mean nothing to me. I cannot imagine any- 
thing more imperative than myself at this juncture. The 
weary days go on with little or no change. . . . 

I really do not need anything, but when it suits I 
hope thee can come, just to let me see how nice it is to 
be well and adequate. Do not worry if thee cannot 
come, and tell Sary, too, it is not important, but I have 



596 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

a fancy it would make me better to see either or both 
of you. 

March 3d, 1899. 

Still in bed, dear Fin, but not because thee tired me 
out, or indeed for any reason that I know of, only I 
cannot help it. I walk around upstairs now and then, 
but am so soon tired. If it were not for the Browning 
love-letters I might easily feel the tedium of bed so 
long, but I am living their life, and so do not feel my 
own. I did condescend to think of the Alliance and 
of thy triumph, but then I am used to that kind of 
thing, and it does not stir me to the depths. 

Hanson Eobinson was quite indignant once upon a 
time when people thought we were alike. He said, 
" They are no more alike in mind or character than in 
appearance," and I know now he was right. When 
thee has brought out thy views on Creation perhaps thee 
will condescend to show me thy papers, for even if I 
cannot be like thee, I can appreciate the difference. Do 
be good and send me thy papers in the same spirit in 
which Steve sends me lovely long letters, — just for my 
entertainment. The time may come when thee will not 
be adequate as now, and time hangs heavily for those 
who cannot keep up the procession; so thee must do 
as thee would be done by, then, as well as now. . . . 

Tom will return the pamphlet to-morrow from the 
office. There are two sides to the shield, and every- 
thing depends on the standpoint whether it looks like 
silver or gold. At present Tom is engaged in guessing 
riddles, and his mind works only on that; but there are 
more riddles than are contained in that book, as he will 
find. Bessie Marot brought this little book for my en- 
tertainment, but my brain is not made up to work in 
that line. 

I hope to be able to dismiss my nurse on Sunday, 
but must get stronger first. 



1899. 597 

Now, I hope thee will appreciate this letter, when 
Eobert Browning and Miss Barrett are both waiting for 
me. I cannot see how their son ever could have had 
such letters published, so absolutely private and sacred; 
but I am glad he did. 

I sometimes wonder what she is thinking of me to 
publish these private letters, — these letters that are 
herself over again. And yet if she thought she in any 
way could give pleasure to those she loved she would 
gladly give her innermost thoughts, her dearest hopes; 
and for her sweet sake I remind myself continually, 
" This is not for the public, only for her family; and to 
help those of you who are too young to remember her, 
to appreciate and to love her." 

March 6th, 1899. 

Well, Fin, if I am to "write every day," thee will 
have to supply the ideas. One day is so much like an- 
other that there is really nothing to tell. The oil and 
turpentine go on with terrible pain, and this morning 
my nerves gave out altogether. It doesn't make a bit of 
difference to me whether it is mind or body that has to 
be cured; either is a slow process. 

I have been looking for Sary to-day, thinking she 
might be coming up from Atlantic City. It is just as 
well she did not come, for my tears are too near the sur- 
face. As to letting the nurse go, I found it quite out 
of the question. This illness is certainly a nasty thing, 
both figuratively and literally, and the doctor has as- 
sured me " it is always tedious." This I fully believe, 
for I seem to be just about where I was a week ago. 

Eobert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett have tided 
me over much misery; but now they have started off to 
the Continent with Wilson and Flush, and I am staying 
behind in Wimpole street, just to listen to the rage of 



598 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

the old father. His anathemas seem to suit my mood, 
mixed with oil and turpentine and everything horrid. 
He had some right to be mad when he found they were 
married a week before they left, but all my sympathies 
are with them. . . . 

I leave thee to thy conscience about thy papers, and 
shall be glad to hear them at any time if I am not too 
" misable." . . . 

The doctor says I am really better, so thee need not 
be worried in the least. It is only my courage that 
fails me to-day, and to-morrow I shall take another hold 
on it; only I cannot gather that manna beforehand. 

LETTEK TO S. S. SMYTH. 

March 7th, 1899. 

Sary, my dear, thy little letter came this morning, 
and was most welcome, as usual. Even if it were not a 
usual thing to be glad to get thy letters, I might still 
easily be pleased when there is so little to break the 
monotony. 

I am better to-day, and no longer " burst into tears " 
like Ellen in the "Wide, Wide World." Somehow I 
have gotten hold of myself, although the doctor thinks 
it may be some weeks yet before I am relieved. 
The theory is that this condition has been a 
long while coming, and I am not one to whom he can 
give medicines of any vigor; so my extra refined nature 
has its advantages!! Well, I must call up all my philoso- 
phy, for being down-hearted is only a hindrance to get- 
ting well. Yesterday was my darkest day, and I was 
touched with the nurse trying not to notice it. She 
has been very nice and good to me, and makes herself 
acceptable through the house. Nevertheless, I hope I 
can do without her at the end of this week. If, how- 
ever, the medicines are necessary, she also will be neces- 



1899. 599 

sary; so I try not to think ahead, and as little as possi- 
ble go beyond this present day. 

I have enjoyed the beautiful snow, and mingled in 
the children's delight in wading through it. I did not 
begrudge the fifty cents for cleaning pavements, for it 
gave me entertainment from the windows; and I 
thought how I had inherited Father's passion for this 
work, and really feel as if I could shovel snow better 
than half the men that do it. 

Since I have started the Brownings off I feel quite 
lost without them and am going to carry on the story 
through her " Life and Letters " when I can get hold 
of the book. The nurse has been reading aloud Some of 
those stories in the " Pratt Portraits," and Tom says I 
am just like Sady Pratt. This resemblance is founded 
(I think) on her climbing up to fix a curtain straight in 
the kitchen, and falling into the sink. This was when 
she was over ninety, and Tom thinks I will never grow 
old with years, and continually risk life and limb in 
getting things to suit me. Well, things do not suit 
me now, but when the pain is less I feel indignant at 
myself for complaining, and when it is at its worst I 
think I am an angel for bearing it as well as I do. Please 
strike the balance between these conditions of mind, 
and thee will find it quite unnecessary to worry, but im- 
perative to show me some attention. 

I suppose Fanny will think me unfit to associate 
with after my forlorn letter yesterday, but nobody feels 
very happy with the stomach-ache, and that is my ever- 
present excuse for all complainings. 

I am so glad you went to Atlantic City and Bryn 
Mawr, for I am sure it will do you both much good. I 
had a letter yesterday from Miss Maddison at Bryn 
Mawr, offering their rooms for the summer to us, but I 
am flying at higher game, where we can stay later if we^ 
get into the country at all. 

Let Fin see this letter, for I cannot write two. 



GOO THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 26th, 1899. 

We returned from Atlantic City yesterday, being 
fairly driven out by the cold winds and the promise of 
rain. It is simply an impossible place unless the weath- 
er is conducive. I got great benefit from being so much 
in the open air. Helen Marot and I spent most of the 
time out on the steel pier, where, in sheltered nooks, 
we could defy the elements, and turn our backs on the 
crowds of people, which oppressed me. 

Now, I fully realize that I must get into the country 
soon. My environment at 3303 is well enough in the 
winter, but now that the birds are beginning to plan 
their nests, and the buds are swelling, I feel a " divine 
unrest," which compels me to go forth. This is not dis- 
content, I think, but an instinct for a larger liberty 
than Hamilton street affords. Thee can interpret it as 
thee chooses. Steve Parrish writes me that I must 
come up there as soon as the winter breaks up, which it 
is far from doing now. 

I was very much in hopes of seeing Mildred and 
Will before they left, but they could not spare time to 
come here, and I could not get strength to go there; so 
the connection was not made. It is just as well, for 
farewells are too suggestive. . . . 

3303 Hamilton Street, March 30th, 1899. 

Well, Fin, I am greatly disappointed that thee and 
Anne did not put in an appearance to lunch to-day. On 
the possibility of your coming Lizzie rather outdid her- 
self, and I am sure you will not get anything so good 
to-morrow. . . . 

You, no doubt, are comfortably at home, without a 
thought of my disappointment. My plans are all askew. 
This morning after breakfast Tom and I went out to 
Haverford to see the Dennis house. It did not suggest 
country like Mrs. Andrews's, and the outlook was lim- 



1899. 601 

ited enough. The house, however, was quite pleasant, 
only so crammed full of furniture and impossible pic- 
tures that I felt quite depressed. To meet Mr. Dennis 
in life-size at the front door, and Mrs. Dennis in a most 
assertive painting in the sitting-room, to find the recep- 
tion-room entirely filled up with a "baby-grand," and 
everything in the same full proportion, took my breath. 
Nevertheless, we are thinking seriously of taking the 
house, because they can let us have it any time next 
month, and we may keep it as long as we enjoy it in the 
fall. Perhaps we shall not enjoy it at all, and I hate 
to have Tom spend so much money just for my sake; 
and so, what is to be done about it? The other day, 
Miss Jones — (from Sixty-third street, where we board- 
ed) — came to see me, and would very much like to have 
us spend the summer with them again. The Bancrofts 
are going there, and are anxious for us to join them; but 
Tom so much prefers a home to the best kind of board- 
ing that this has its weight with me, and I cannot see 
myself going to the Jones's in such narrow quarters as 
one room affords. If I could ever get the Dennis house 
to express any part of me or mine I think I could con- 
tent myself in it, but it is no more country than your 
corner at Fifteenth and Broome; but then in compar- 
ison with Hamilton street it is huge! They have a lit- 
tle garden at the end of the lot, which is generally plant- 
ed, and is quite enough ground to care for. . . . 

We are to think about this for a few days, but for 
every reason must make a decision soon. If we do take 
it, I bespeak some company from among you all, for un- 
til the things begin to grow I shall feel out of my ele- 
ment. . . . 

Now, if I get rested enough I am going in town to- 
morrow morning to a flower sale for the benefit of our 
hospital. It is in a building opposite the Mint, and 
next door to Allen's hat store. I am expected there of- 



602 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

ficially, but they have ceased to expect much from me, 
and I shall not stay long if I go. In case you come up 
to town, you might stop in and see if I am there. 

I am trying to arrange to entertain Edith Fuller and 
Maude Hoyt, but so far my strength only allows the 
most commonplace arrangements, and I do not want to 
mix my drinks, either with them, or you, or Miss B. 

Thy plans for a visit from me are very sweet, but 
please do not expect anything of me. I have been kept 
in cotton so long that each little outing seems too ex- 
citing. My trip this morning might as well have been 
to Halifax, for it took every bit of starch out of me, and 
as I see no one but Lizzie from morning until night, 
and she is a sphynx, by powers of conversation are abso- 
lutely gone. When I think of the rush in your lives 
the stagnation of mine seems to suit best, although it 
is not interesting. If you do not get to town to-morrow 
let me know when is the " happy day," for I must see 
you soon. 

summer of 1 8 9 9 . 

In the spring of 1899 Mr. Smith rented a cottage in 
Bryn Mawr, and in May they moved to it. It was such 
a delight to Pattie to be there in time to plant her 
seeds, and to watch them grow; and when she was 
tired she would lie in the hammock on the piazza where 
her eyes could rest upon her flowers; or look up into 
the branches of the oak-tree at the gate; or away across 
the road to the beautiful churchyard around the Church 
of the Redeemer. How she loved nature! Her whole 
soul was aglow with delight in it; and a fading plant 
touched her heart as though it were human. There 
had been a few vines planted by the fence before they 
rented the cottage, and every time she went out she 
could see their dwindling proportions. She told me 



1899. 603 

one day how she had the ground dug up around them, 
and richly manured, for, she said, " each time I looked 
at them they seemed to hold up such appealing faces; 
they looked so dwindling and helpless that I could not 
help but help them." Her tender sympathy was un- 
failing to any appeal of helplessness. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 8th, 1899. 
Well, Fin, we have rented H. W/s house, although 
I made alterations as I entered the front door. It is 
pleasantly situated, but whether in Haverford or Bryn 
Mawr I cannot tell. It is directly opposite the Church 
of the Eedeemer, where all the swells from both sec- 
tions most do congregate. We can get our religion sit- 
ting on the front porch. We have nothing to interfere 
with country on one side, and the other is pretty close 
to a neighbor. These neighbors have a lovely oak-tree 
in the yard, which I think will be of benefit to us. H. 
W. does not approve of outside decorations. Vines are 
excluded on account of injuring the plaster, and trees 
are not in his programme. My fondness for gardening 
must go to vegetables in the back-yard, though he 
has no objections to nasturtiums in front. This brings 
me to ask if thee positively declines to tell me where 
thee gets thy seed? I really want some, and sweet peas, 
too, if we go out early enough to plant. We can have 
the house on the first of May, and keep it until the first 
of November; so thee sees there is a long season. Now 
everything depends on Lizzie. I do not find her en- 
thusiastic about anything, but she does hope we will 
" get a house near the station, or near other houses." 
Now this is as near to Haverford station as to Bryn 
Mawr, and I think possibly a little nearer. Anyhow, 
they prefer Haverford, on account of the pleasant road. 
Lizzie's city instincts will have a rude blow, but I can- 
not cater to her taste entirely. 



604: THE STORY OF A LITE. 

I hope to educate Mrs. W., if not her husband, on 
the subject of vines, for the house, being yellow, lends 
itself especially to such decorations. We can keep their 
chickens if we want to, but we do not want to. I know 
how hateful they are if fastened up, and that they get 
lice, too; so I abhor going near them. I think I shall 
plant corn, tomatoes and peas, for they do not require 
much care, and pay by their freshness for the table. We 
are to take our own china, table linen, etc., as we did last 
summer. I hope I shall get stronger there, for some- 
how I do not pick up as I ought to. Tom is paying too 
much for the experiment, but he is convinced that 
money could not be better spent. We might have had 
Mrs. Dennis's house for less, but the situation did not 
compare, and so, like James Whitcomb Riley, " the best 
is good enough for me." 

I shall have to go out to see Mrs. W. about some de- 
tails, and how would thee like to go with me? Thee 
can determine, then, whether thee would like to visit us 
this summer. 

This was only decided on yesterday, though we saw 
the house early in the week. The problem that bothers 
me now is, Why do they want to give it up if they are 
so fond of it? Probably I shall find out by living there 
myself. We both conclude that if we could only move 
this house into the country, we should be more than sat- 
isfied, but noise and dust and funerals and screaming 
children are all in their way good reasons for our get- 
ting away from Hamilton street Tom implored me not 
to worry about the money, but I cannot but feel at times 
that I am getting too much and giving too little. I 
really want thee to see this house, but perhaps it will not 
be as interesting to thee until I get in it. 

Now, what has thee decided about Mrs. Deland's lec- 
ture on Wednesday? I will get the tickets anyhow, for 



1899. 605 

there are plenty of people who want to use them; but it 
would be sort of decent if thee could say yes or no. 

The lease has just reached me, and after I sign it 
we shall begin to own a place in the country. I hope it 
will be all right, and I am in the light of a bloated mil- 
lionaire to Mr. W., for it is all done in my name, Tom 
not appearing in it at all. 

Now, I shall expect to hear from thee soon, and I 
have no time to say a word more. Pass this letter over 
to Sary, who will be interested in all that concerns 

M. S. 
* 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 12th, 1899. 

Well, Fin, I am glad thee is willing to confess thy 
wretched behavior to me, but think there is much au- 
dacity in the request, after this, that I should make a 
visit to you this week. My amiability and inclination 
both point to it, but there are lions in the way which 
seem to prevent. I wonder if the end of the next week 
would suit thee as well? Tom would like to come down 
on Sunday and bring me home in the evening, for things 
are beginning to pile up here for me. 

I have just written to Mrs. W. that on Saturday 
morning next I shall go out there to interview the gar- 
dener, and in the afternoon Edith Fuller and Maude 
Hoyt will be here to call unless I send them word not 
to come. They came out to-day while I was at the Cen- 
tury Club listening to Mrs. Deland, and left word that 
they would come Saturday instead. How I wish thee 
could have heard Mrs. Deland! She was fine, and thee 
will not know how to be happy now. 

Thee seems not to care about seeing my country-place 
until we are fixed there, but if thee feels like going out 
with me on Saturday morning, I would like it. I have 
arranged to get there about eleven o'clock, so if thee is 
coming up to Philadelphia thee could go just as well as 



606 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

not. I sent for the nasturtiums to-day, and if it is not 
too late for sweet peas I shall certainly plant them. The 
place looks rather new, but I hope to express myself in 
it before the summer is over. 

When I go to Wilmington I will arrange for Lizzie 
to go> too, so she may get a good visit before she retires 
into oblivion. She evidently feels that she is quitting 
the world, but / feel as if I were coming into my own 
again. 

Now I am going straight to bed — (at eight o'clock) 
— for even Mrs. Deland could not prevent my getting 
dreadfully tired this afternoon, and the crowds of peo- 
ple were quite too much for me. 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 18th, 1899. 

This is only to tell thee, dear Fin, that we got home 
all right Sunday night, thanks to thy shawl. I should 
have been very cold without it, as we had to stand some 
time waiting for the car in Philadelphia. Lizzie put in 
an appearance after I was in bed, but I found it impos- 
sible next morning to extract a word on the subject of 
her visit. She looks upon my light and trifling con- 
versation as a warning to keep things to herself, and this 
is followed religiously. We live our separate lives, 
which rarely touch; and it is quite against my principles 
not to establish a sort of fellowship as human beings. 
However, this is impossible with her, and so we go on 
in our separate shells, and get no farther. 

Just as I was writing the above Mrs. Suplee (from 
across the way) came to invite me to drive up the Wissa- 
hickon. Does thee think I hesitated for one moment? 
Yes, for just that length of time, no more; as I had ar- 
ranged to go out to Bryn Mawr with my seeds. This, 
however, was put aside for the glorious opportunity of 
a ride behind two fine horses, and into the wilds of the 
woods, where every tree is now so distinct in its foliage. 



1899. 607 

There is no chance to distinguish one from the other 
after a while, so I am going in about half an hour, and 
can only fill up part of that time with this letter. I 
wanted thee to know how much good my visit did me, 
and I wonder how you can all be so nice, and take an 
interest in an uninteresting creature like M. S. When 
one ceases to give out she has no right to take in; and 
so the good things I got from you must be either pure 
robbery, or else the finest kind of generosity. I leave it 
for thee to determine. . . . 

I must tell thee I took a ride on my wheel yesterday 
afternoon with Bessie Marot, and came back much in- 
vigorated. Oh, just wait, Fin, until I get in the coun- 
try, and then I will be nice again. Good-bye, now, and 
ho for the Wissahickon! 

3303 Hamilton Street, April 28th, 1899. 

Well, Fin, thy letter gives me an idea that I am upon 
thy mind, and this will become burdensome if I do not 
relieve the pressure. In the first place, if thee feels like 
coming to see me to-morrow I shall be glad to see thee, 
but as for any work thee can do, I am quite sure thee 
will understand the impossibility. We do not move 
until Thursday next, and a man will pack the china, and 
I shall pack my trunk, and put on my thinking cap as 
to what to take and what to leave behind. I am very 
sure Lizzie will be in the latter category, for it is mor- 
ally impossible for her to get ready for anything, so 
Tom and I will go out in the morning after the goods 
are started, leaving her to follow. The meals will prob- 
ably be al fresco and eaten in our hands, but Lizzie is 
quite too proper for that. It will be time enough for 
the proprieties when she gets there. 

I am quite sure thee will not be enthusiastic about 
the place, as I am not, but it is certainly the best we 
could do for this season. I have been intending to go 



608 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

out every day this week, but simply couldn't, partly be- 
cause of the stomach-ache, and partly because of other 
engagements. Now it seems to me the. garden and 
everything else must wait until we get there, and thee, 
too. If thee has anything else to do in Philadelphia, 
and will make a convenience of me, and not the object 
of thy visit, I shall be delighted to see thee. 

My ailments are better, and had nothing to do with 
my visit to Wilmington, but only followed it in devilish 
fashion for some unknown reason. I find myself plan- 
ning to do as little work as possible, so thee may know I 
am not quite up to snuff yet; but if thee finds the house 
at Bryn Mawr all in a mess thee will know the reason. 

Now, Fin, this must go, and thee may find a steady 
welcome, but not a necessity, for thy proposed visit. I 
will keep on looking for thee until thee comes, so take 
thy time and suit thyself. 

Haverford, (or Bryn Mawr), May 5th, 1899. 
(Whichever you choose.) 

The laundryman says it is Bryn Mawr, the milkman 
says it is Haverford, and I do not care which, if it only 
brings thee up to see what is to be done to cure crude- 
ness in this establishment. 

We were greatly favored in the day for moving, and 
got here all right, with the slight inconvenience of leav- 
ing some of the most important things behind. Tom 
and I worked like beavers, and unpacked our trunks be- 
fore we found there was no place for the contents. How- 
ever, we made up the beds and slept away our various 
complications, and this morning the birds waked me up 
at four o'clock. 

I am sitting in " Mrs. Boffin's Bower," and writing 
at her fine little desk. It is a room I do not know what 
to do with, and my lounge looks plain and countrified 
with these surroundings. Still, it is the only comfort- 



1899. 609 

able thing in the room. Lizzie thinks the house is 
nicer than Mrs. Andrews's, and I let her think so if she 
can; but she acknowledges there is not a place even to 
hang up her apron in the kitchen. The bath-room is 
also devoid of hooks, and thee will have to drop thy 
clothes on the floor, unless Tom gets time to spoil their 
walls. But, really, the house is very pleasant, and I 
like the upstairs arrangement better than that of the 
Andrews cottage; but not so downstairs. It is the out- 
side, however, that is the problem. I ought to have a 
man here for a week to fix things, but there is not a 
man to be had for love or money. I have no time to 
write about this, or anything else, so thee must come 
and see for thyself. Thee must get a ticket to Haver- 
ford, and a hack from the station to Mr. H. W.'s cottage. 
Everyone knows where to find us by this time. 

" The church-bell is ringing, the village is gay," etc., 
and services are going on all the time, I think. The 
church-yard grounds seem to be used a good deal for bi- 
cyclers, which seems to me rather secular. 

I do not see how thee can wait until next week to 
see how we are fixed, and therefore I shall look for thee 
until thee comes. 

I have just mashed my finger in one of the vile win- 
dows, so good-bye. 

Bryn Mawr, May 17th, 1899. 
Well, Fin, just as I get ready to finish my stockings, 
thy note is handed in, so that shows whose fault it is 
that I do not get them done. However, I have another 
pair yet in the drawer, so I do not worry, and thee can- 
not scare me out of this haphazard way of living. As 
to my stealing flags and other flowers in the Fisher 
place, thee cannot scare me with people on the porch, 
for they only came to look at it, and probably picked 
more flowers than I did. 



610 THE STOKY OF A LIFE. 

On Monday my two dressmakers came, and of course 
wanted something that was in my drawers at home; so 
I had to walk down to Bryn Mawr village to get it, of 
course expecting to get a hack to ride hack. None was 
to be had, so I walked back, which I tell thee to show 
how much the country has already done for me. I was 
tired, but not half so tired as next day, when I sat sew- 
ing all day. The moral of this is: " Never sew, nor 
even darn stockings when you can get out of it." 

Sallie Wierman and Sue called to take me riding 
Monday afternoon, and in spite of the dressmakers I 
went, which shows " a heart at leisure " from " where- 
withal shall we be clothed." 

We had a lovely little visit from Sary on Sunday, 
and Alice and Eleanor, too, and in the afternoon the 
little Smyth children, who told me they were " coming 
every Sunday as long as Sunday-school lasts." Next 
time they expect to stay to tea, by my invitation; but 
Tom is the real attraction, devoting himself to their en- 
tertainment. 

(Evening.) My letter found no way to be mailed, 
and therefore did not get finished, and now the thread 
is broken. 

I am summoned to the hospital to-morrow, and if 
possible will go, as the repair committee is rather im- 
portant just now. 

I got through with the dressmakers very well, but 
have had much to finish off to-day. In the midst of it, 
however, I stopped and went off to pick daisies in the 
field. It was a great recreation, and I felt that I owed 
it to myself, after sewing so diligently!! I wish I could 
also reward myself by seeing the Loan Exhibit, but am 
not sure it is free to all, or, if not, where to get the 
tickets. 

I was greatly disappointed for you not to come on 
Sunday, and I did not easily give you up when Helen 
was of the party. . . . 



1899. 611 

Haverford, May 23d, 1899. 

" David Harum " has arrived, very much the worse 
for his outing. Thee knows I love to lend my hooks, 
hut positively this might cure me. However, it cannot 
he helped, only thee must always protect books in the 
mail hy corners. This would have helped a little, but 
its back is broken, and that may have happened by too 
much reading. Certainly thee cannot be blamed for 
this, as I am supposed to read it to thee yet. . . . 

I returned a call this afternoon on Mrs. Linn, whose 
brother owns the house we looked at, and the garden 
I robbed.* Virtue has its own reward, for this after- 
noon I came home laden with flowers of all kinds, 
thrust upon me by Mrs. Linn, and her father, Mr. 
Fisher. They found it the best way to supply me out 
of the way of temptation, and Mr. Fisher invited me to 
come help myself at any time; so there! 

(Thursday morning.) My eyes ached last night, so I 
stopped my letter. Thy career is as mad as ever, going 
down to the Federation of Clubs when I supposed thee 
was delving over the Girls' Industrial. My occupations 
are less varied, consisting chiefly of wishing for the 
strength of a man, added to my own head. 

I trust no one so much as myself on gardening, but 
this place is pretty nearly hopeless, and when we come 
to count up we shall find we pay a good deal for our 
whistle. However, if I find health and pleasure in it 
this is what the country home is for. 

I am expecting Miss Bardwell this evening, and will 
get a good deal of help from her in that line, as she is 
quite knowledgable about plants. She will probably be 
here a week or ten days, and then I will finish " Dave 

* One day when I was visiting Pattie we walked over to a house 
back of theirs, which was unoccupied. Pattie gathered some 
flowers in the garden, at which I pretended to be much shocked, 
calling it stealing. 



612 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

Harum " to thee if thee will come up with thy work and 
"settle"! 

Tom is still adding to our conveniences in the house, 
and I am sure thee will see some improvements when 
thee comes; but there is no more time for writing, as we 
are called to breakfast. Send me a line. 

June 9th, 1899. 
. . . My letter was laid aside yesterday for some 
good reason, and in the afternoon we were to go to din- 
ner at Herbert's, to meet Mr. and Mrs. Earle and Miss 
Walker. Tom had engaged a hack, and sat down in his 
good clothes to cool off with us on the porch, where we 
patiently waited until seven o'clock, the hour for dinner. 
It was pouring rain, and we could do nothing. Finally 
Tom " took himself apart/' as he said, and tramped all 
the way down to Haverford to get the means of transpor- 
tation. We have found one striking peculiarity in Bryn 
Mawr is that nobody is ever on time. I was quite mor- 
tified to go so late and keep Eleanor's dinner waiting, 
but when we got there we found we were the first ar- 
rivals, although the others were near neighbors. It does 
not suit my old-fashioned ideas, and is not good manners 
in &ny way. Eleanor was perfectly sweet and unruffled, 
and had a beautiful dinner, well cooked and well served, 
and we all had a lovely time; but our driver made up 
for his neglect in taking us by coming to take us home 
much too early, when we did not feel at all ready to go; 
but being at his mercy we simply had to go, and seemed 
to be landed at home almost before we had begun our 
visit. Eleanor is a lovely hostess, and excited my ad- 
miration, as usual. 

Sunday, July 9th, 1899. 

To set thy mind at rest, dear Fin, I must tell thee 
thy labors have had a successful ending. Yesterday I 
undertook the silk skirt, and waded patiently along un- 



1899. 613 

til it was done ; even the band put on. Now, whether it 
it right or wrong, who shall say? I cannot possibly see 
it, and shall wear it with the idea of perfection; there- 
fore it must be all right. 

I missed thee quite as much as thy wildest flights of 
vanity could desire, and this morning I rejoice in the 
cool day for thy sake. I am all impatience to hear of 
your trip to Strasburg, and wonder if all the Martins 
were rejoiced with your company. " Such a nice-look- 
ing party/' I thought, as I took my solitary way out to 
Haverford. Tom came home early, and worked away 
at the wire netting for the nasturtiums, which we got 
up between showers. 

Mrs. Linn called to urge us to gather the berries, and 
we have just returned from a most successful raid on 
their place. Besides the berries, I got a lovely bouquet 
for the porch, of cornflowers and white wild carrots, 
which together look beautiful. 

I have undertaken " Seraphita " again, which intro- 
duces a very interesting account of Swedenborg and his 
visions. It is all very visionary, but may be true for all 
I know. When we consider the various standpoints, it 
is a wonder how they can expect to convince one an- 
other. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

LAST DAYS. 

The summer of 1899 was heart-breaking for us who 
watched her fade away, hoping against hope; but most 
of all to him who had been as her son, her brother and 
her friend. No one could have done more than he. 
Night after night he would watch with her through 
those dreadful hours of nervousness, and he knew more 
than anyone else the terrible agony she endured. We 
tried to have a nurse for her, but she refused; then we 
procured some one to wait upon her, which proved to be 
a failure; but when we moved her back to her own 
home, the last of October, she consented to a trained 
nurse being employed. 

Early in October the consulting physician pro- 
nounced her case hopeless, and that she could not live 
more than a few months. She was not told of this at 
the time, but every arrangement was made that what 
remained of life might be made easy and pleasant. On 
the day chosen for her return her friend, Mrs. T. N". 
Ely, sent her carriage to take her from Bryn Mawr to 
the house at 3303 Hamilton street, which she had made 
for so many years a happy center of attraction. This 
drive, to which she often referred with the heartiest ap- 
preciation, was the last time she was out; and the day 
after her return she went to bed never to leave it againj 

Long before, during a previous severe illness, she 
had exacted a promise from T. C. S. that if at any time 
her life should be in danger, he would tell her at 
once. A further careful examination by the 
doctor confirming his previous diagnosis, but 
shortening the probable time of life from months 



LAST DAYS. 615 

to weeks, T. C. S. only waited for a favorable op- 
portunity to break the news to her. Late one evening, 
when alone with him, she made a remark about doing 
something "when I am stronger"; and, noticing his 
hesitation, she asked, " Don't you think I will ever be 
stronger? " On his remaining silent, she asked, quietly, 
"Why don't you answer? " " Because I cannot answer 
as I would like to," was his reply. " Does the doctor say 
I won't get well? " she asked; and the dreadful " Yes " 
had to be uttered. She paused thoughtfully for a few 
moments, and then said, with a surprised air, but no 
trace of agitation, " Why, I did not think I was sick 
enough for that! " Then, seeing his distress, she tried 
to comfort him, saying, " Well, I would not worry over 
it too much; you know he told me eight years ago that 
I had a fatal disease." " Ah," he answered, " but this 
is different, and his examination a few days ago con- 
vinced him." Both sat silent a little, and then T. C. S. 
said, " I am afraid I have done you harm by telling you; 
it will upset you so," when she answered, with an ineffa- 
ble calmness and conviction, " Why should it? I have 
been taken care of all my life, and I shall be taken care 
of now; surely I can trust Him for that." 

No more was said at the time, but the next day she 
called T. C. S. to her side, and asked if her brothers and 
sisters knew what she had been told; and on being an- 
swered " Yes," she said, " Then why can't I be told all 
that they have been?" This was done, and then she 
asked for " John Ward, Preacher," and had read to her 
the scene where the old lawyer is told of his approach- 
ing end. When this was done, she said, " Now, that is 
what I want; let my friends come to see me, but I don't 
want them to talk to me about this; let them just ac- 
cept this as natural, and speak to me as they always 
have." To one of her sisters she remarked, " Death is 



616 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 

as natural as life; let us treat it as naturally ; — only do 
not let us talk of things we do not know." 

For a few weeks more she lived on, failing daily in 
strength, but never for a moment losing her wonderful 
spirit and patience. It was characteristic of her self- 
depreciation that she wondered why she should be so 
much thought of, and remarked, because her rooms were 
always bright with flowers, " Well, I certainly have kind 
friends." Over and over her quick humor would flash 
out, even within a few hours of her death; and it seemed 
impossible that such a soul could be conquered. 
Through all this time she never for a moment forgot to 
think of the comfort and interests of others, and was the 
calmest and most cheerful of all; and her death was an 
example, as her life had been. 

On the evening of December 11, 1899, she had 
solved the mystery, the " long, long wonder ended," and 
she had passed into the beyond. Her desire to be nat- 
ural, and that death itself should be treated naturally 
and as a friend, made her dislike any of the trappings 
of woe; and she had requested that her house should not 
be darkened, but that the sunshine might come in as 
though she were there. Her wish was observed, and on 
the day of her funeral the sunshine poured into the win- 
dows, lighting up the window-garden that she had 
tended and loved; and there was not even the shadow of 
darkness anywhere. 

She had given directions some time before that her 
body should be cremated and her ashes strewn on Moth- 
er's grave, to which request we attended. 

This favorite verse of hers is a fitting close to the 
story of her life, for it embodies the thought that was 
the secret of her calmness and courage: — 

" Battling with fate, with men and with myself, 
Up the steep summit of my life's forenoon, 
Three things I learned, — three things of precious worth, — 



LAST DAYS. 617 



To guide and help me down the western slope: — 
I have learned how to praj% and toil, and save; 
To pray for courage to receive what comes, 
Knowing what comes to be divinely sent; 
To toil for universal good, since thus, 
And only thus, can good come unto me; 
To save, by giving whatsoe'er I have 
To those who have not, — this alone is gain." 



DESCENDANTS 

OF 

JOHN AND ELIZABETH POOLE SELLERS 



JOHN SELLERS 
of Upper Darby, Del. Co., Pa. 
born 9-29-1789 married 4-10-1817 

died 7-20-1878 

Secon d Generation . 

MARY SELLERS For Descendants see page iv 

born 6-2-1818 died 12-15-1894 

married 5-21-1840 

Edward Bancroft 

of Providence, R. I. 
born 10-21-1811 died 4-1-1855 



Sarah Poole Sellers 
born 2-18-1820 died in infancy 

William Poole Sellers 
born 4-13-1822 died in infancy 

John Sellers 
born 9-5-1823 died in infancy 



WILLIAM SELLERS For Descendants see page vi 

born 9-19-1824 

married 4-19-1849 

Mary Ferris 

of Wilmington, Del. 

born 10-31-1820 died 12-1-1870 

married 8-21-1873 

Amelie Haasz 

of Philadelphia, Pa. 

born 5-28-1842 



JOHN SELLERS, Jr. For Descendants see page viii 

born 7-27-1826 

married 10-6-1853 

Anne Caroline Keen 

of Philadelphia, Pa. 
born 2-11-1827 died 11-11-1900 



ELIZABETH POOLE 

of Wilmington, Del. 
born 4-28-1792 died 1-3-1859 



Second Generation. 

GEORGE H. SELLERS For Descendants see page x 

born 8-21-1828 died 6-7-1897 

married 5-2-1850 

Annie Wilson 

of Bucks County, Penna. 
born 10-14-1828 



bARAH A. SELLERS jr or Descendants see page xii 

born 8-21-1828 

married 6-4-1856 

Clement Biddle Smyth 

of Wilmington, Del. 
born 12-29-1827 



Martha Sellers 
born 10-2-1830 died 12-11-1899 



1 RANCES SELLERS jr or Descendants see page xiv 

born 9-23-1833 

married 4-26-1855 

Eli Garrett 

of Wilmington, Del. 
born 12-2-1830 died 5-25-1880 



JNATHAN SELLERS jr or Descendants see page xvi 

born 7-18-1836 

married 6-30-1863 

Mary H. Keen 

of Philadelphia, Pa. 

born 8-8-1842 
( Hi ) 



DESCENDANTS OF MARY SELLERS 

Third Generation. 

John Sellers Bancroft 
born 9-12-1843 

married 10-25-1866 

Elizabeth H. Richardson 

of New Castle Co., Del. 
born 9-18-1845 died 3-5-1869 

married 9-27-1871 

Anne S. Richardson 

of New Castle Co., Del. 

born 9-27-1843 



Anna P. Bancroft 
born 8-30-1845 



r 



married 11-28-1878 



Ellwood Coggeshall 

of New York, N. Y. 
born 9-11-1846 



J 



Elizabeth Bancroft "^ 

born 1-19-1849 



married 4-21-1869 



Stephen Parrish 

of Philadelphia, Pa. 

born 7-9-1846 
(iv) 



Y 



AND EDWARD BANCROFT 



Fourth Generation . 

r Edward Bancroft 

born 9-4-1867 died 5-22-1893 

Henry Bancroft 

born 1-26-1869 

married 6-14-1900 



v 



r Wilfred Bancroft 
born 6-9-1874 



Mary J. Godshall 

of Lansdale, Penna. 
born 5-13-1876 



Alice Bancroft 
born 4-10-1876 



C Mary B. Coggeshall 
born 1-19-1880 



Allan Coggeshall 
born 10-12-1881 



Elizabeth Coggeshall 
V. born 3-14-1886 



r Frederic Maxfield Parrish 
born 7-25-1870 

married 6-1-1895 



Lydia Austen 

of Woodstown, N. J. 
born 2-19-1872 



(v) 



DESCENDANTS OF WILLIAM SELLERS 

Third Generation. 

Katharine Megear Sellers 
born 8-13-1852 

married 6-5-1877 

Christian Carson Febiger 
of Philadelphia, Pa. 
born 4-2-1845 



William Ferris Sellers 
born 3-27-1856 

married 11-19-1885 



Frances Ferris Sellers 
born 6-23-1858 died 5-19-1859 



DESCENDANTS OF WILLIAM SELLERS 

Third Generation. 

Alexander Sellers 
born 12-24-1875 

married 6-2-1897 

Edith Ferris Bringhurst 
of Wilmington, Del. 
born 3-30-1874 
Richard Sellers 
born 3-9-1881 

Christine Sellers 
born 11-12-1882 died 2-25-1884 

{vi) 



1 



Sarah Alderman L 

of Woodstown, N. J. 
born 9-29-1855 



^ 



r 



AND MARY FERRIS 



Fourth Generation. 



r Cheistian Febigee 
born 3-20-1878 



Maey Sellees Febigee 
born 2-2-1880 



Elizabeth Febigee 
born 1-11-1882 



Kathaeine Febigee 
born 7-4-1884 



William Sellees Febigee 
born 6-20-1888 



C Anna Sellees 
born 9-2-1886 



AND AMELIE HAASZ 



Fourth Generation. 



^Anna Bexnghuest Sellees 
born 3-9-1898 

William Sellees, Je. 
born 9-19-1899 



( vii ) 



DESCENDANTS OF JOHN SELLERS 

Third Generation. 

Lucy Sellers 
born 7-12-1854 

married 10-16-1879 

George Taylor Barnes 

of Philadelphia, Pa. 
born 6-29-1846 died 1-30-1900 



Howard Sellers 
born 3-22-1857 

married 10-18-1888 

Sarah Mendenhall Worrell 
of Wilmington, Del. 
born 6-27-1865 



Elizabeth Poole Sellers 
born 11-4-1858 

married 6-15-1887 

Granville Worrell 

of Wilmington, Del. 
born 9-21-1836 

Mildred Sellers 
born 12-4-1859 

married 2-11-1885 



William Ellery Almy, U. S. A. 
of Washington, D. C. 
born 11-9-1856 



Marion Sellers 
born. 7-27-1869 died 11-8-1877 

( viii ) 



> 



J 



AND ANNE CAROLINE KEEN 



Fourth Generation. 



r John Sellers Barnes 
born 5-30-1881 



Caroline Sellers Barnes 
born 12-28-1883 



Natalie Sellers Barnes 
^ born 5-23-1889 



C Howard Sellers Worrell 
born 3-26-1888 

Granville Worrell, Jr. 
born 6-17-1896 



r Marion Sellers Almy 
born 8-14-1888 

Helen Almy 
born 8-2-1890 

Anne Caroline Almy 
born 2-18-1894 



(ix) 



DESCENDANTS OF GEORGE H. SELLERS 



Third Generation. 

Isabella Pennock Sellers 
born 12-5-1851 

married 1-30-1878 

Walter Harold Smith 

of Wilmington, Del. 
born 9-24-1848 



George W. Sellers 
born 3-15-1855 died 3-14-186C 



Sarah A. Sellers 
born 12-21-1858 died 3-3-1862 



Fkancis G. Sellers 
born 6-17-1864 

married 11-11-1890 



Melita A. Negendank 

of Wilmington, Del. 
born 8-6-1862 



Alice Pearson Sellers 
born 8-24-1866 



(x) 



r 



AND ANNIE WILSON 



Fourth Generation. 



George Sellers Smith 
born 12-27-1878 



Elizabeth Wollaston Smith 
born 10-16-1880 

Samuel Rodmond Smith, 2d 
born 8-24-1883 



Dewees Smith 
born 3-5-1888 



rJoHN Sellers 
born 3-18-1894 



Frances Sellers 
born 11-16-1898 



(o?i) 



DESCENDANTS OF SARAH A. SELLERS 

Third Generation. 

Herbert Weir Smyth 
born 8-8-1857 

married 12-20-1887 

Eleanor Adt 

of Baltimore, Md. 
born 9-18-1865 



Elizabeth Poole Smyth 
born 8-4-1860 died 10-20-18G1 



William Canby Smyth 
born 12-28-1864 died 7-28-1875 



Alice P. Smyth 
born 8-28-1867 



( xii) 



V 



J 



AND CLEMENT BIDDLE SMYTH 



Fourth Generation. 



r Raymond Weir Smyth 
born 11-3-1888 



Gladys Weir Smyth 
born 8-12-1890 



Evelyn Weir Smyth 
born 6-20-1892 



E irene Weir Smyth 
born 10-3-1900 



{xiii) 



DESCENDANTS OF FRANCES SELLERS 

Third Generation. 

Helen Sellees Gaeeett 
born 3-7-1857 



Rachel Mendenhall Gaeeett 
born 10-4-1860 

married 4-26-1884 

Lewis Cass Vandegbift 

of Wilmington, Del. 
born 8-27-1855 died 7-31-1900 J 



Anne Robinson Gaeeett 
born 5-27-1865 



married 11-9-1888 



V 



Heney Banning Beadfoed 
of Wilmington, Del. 
born 4-24-1859 



Fbancts Sellees Gaeeett 
born 3-10-1869 



married 4-12-1893 



> 



Edith Shapleigh 

of Philadelphia, Pa. 
born 4-25-1871 

( xiv ) 



j 



AND ELI GARRETT. 



Fourth Generation. 



r Frances Garrett Vandegrift 
born 10-10-1885 

Dorothy Vandegrift 
born 11-21-1886 

Christopher Vandegrift 
born 8-11-1888 

Bareara Vandegrift 
born 4-27-1890 

Hester Elizareth Vandegrift 
born 9-7-1891 died 8-8-1892 

Elinor Vandegrift 
L. born 9-20-1898 

f Sidney George Bradford 
born 7-30-1890 

William Dyre Bradford 
born 7-22-1892 

Thomas Garrett Bradford 
born 10-8-1895 

RORERT PENNELL BRADFORD 

born 9-25-1897 



Anne Shapleigh Garrett 
born 6-16-1897 

John Sellers Garrett 
born 9-30-1900 



(aw) 



DESCENDANTS OF NATHAN SELLERS 
AND MARY KEEN 



Third Generation. 

Sidney Keen Sellers 
born 9-19-1864 died 10-23-1882 



Walter McIlvaine Sellers 
born 2-22-1866 died 11-15-1866 



Norman Percy Sellers 
born 12-31-1869 died 6-4-1885 



(xvi) 



Q* (Aft J 



JAN 31 1901 



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